


The Things We Do

by LacklusterCrowns



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Gaping, Angry Sex, Being Walked In On, Blood Kink, Car Sex, Come Sharing, Creampie, Crying, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Angst, Gun Kink, Hair-pulling, Hurt/Comfort, It's KIND OF polyamory without labels, Jealousy, M/M, Mind Games, Non-Consensual Drug Use, OR IS IT, Obsession, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Sexual Violence, Sleepy Cuddles, Sloppy Seconds, Somnophilia, Spanking, Spit As Lube, Spit Kink, Stockholm Syndrome, Tags will be added as the fic progresses, Things start good and then get worse, Unrequited Love, Vomiting, Voyeurism, slight food play, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-03-24 19:30:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 148,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13817919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LacklusterCrowns/pseuds/LacklusterCrowns
Summary: Noctis falls ill, Ignis broods, Gladiolus discovers some new things about Prompto, and Ardyn discovers a new set of ways to make everyone miserable.Contains major spoilers for Episode Ignis, Episode Prompto, and events after Chapter 8.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> i rewrote this 8 times and im still not happy with it but i need to set the catalyst. hang tight, ive got a lot of chapters to re-edit, but fair warning this is not a happy story :(

The sun is beginning its descent behind rolling green hills when Ignis suggests finding a place to rest. The summer heat feels thick with humidity in the Cleigne region, even despite travelling at 60 miles per hour through back roads lush with foliage. Every warm breeze feels stifling, but Ignis is more concerned about the sick prince in the backseat than his own discomfort.

Noctis retrieved his royal arms from deep within the Greyshire Glacial Grotto, but it came at a cost that wasn't just a few scratches from Goblins they encountered along the way. Cushy living within the palace's protective walls left Noct's immune system susceptible to bacteria cultures in the dark, damp mines, and it was Ignis's duty to placate his King when he fell sick with a fever. The aftermath of the Empire's invasion was just beyond the trees, a constant threat lurking in the sky.

The King comes to him in Lestallum with a headache. By the time the sun starts to set, he's running a temperature that makes Ignis nervous, ever careful of his health even without the stress of the Empire's presence. The idea that Noctis got sick because Ignis suggested they scour the area for treasure makes him feel guilty, but after Gladiolus's encounter with his sister in Lestallum has set his mind at ease, he doesn't feel like taking a few days to recuperate sounds out of the question.

It's Gladio who suggests they take a break at the motel for once, but the dark is starting to creep over the sky, and Ignis won't chance the roads in his King's condition. The only option at this point is finding a campsite, which Prompto manages to spy while hanging over the car door, not too far away from the waterfall. Ignis is still hesitant to let the King rest on the hard ground in light of his situation, but his desperation is starting to seep through his usually calm demeanour. 

He's worse than Ignis thought. They pull up through the dirt path, eager to eat and rest after an all-nighter spent in the mines. When the tactician opens up Noctis's car door, the King practically falls out of the Regalia and into Ignis's hold. For a moment he assumes Noct's fallen asleep, until he hears his voice respond with a breathless “thanks” against his chest.

Though he's quick to slide his arms around Noct's waist when he tumbles out of the car, Ignis takes his temperature with the back of his hand against his forehead. His fever has gone from moderately worrying to genuinely concerning, and it makes worry etch itself into Ignis's expression. Noct feels hot enough to fry a birdbeast egg, though despite his condition, the King smiles at him in a way that makes the chef's chest feel tight.

“Aw, come on, it's not that bad.” Comes Noctis's reassurance. Ignis realizes he must've seen the look on his face. His words were meant to soothe, but it makes Ignis feel like the responsibility falls solely on him to ensure his well-being. It's not behaviour befitting the Arm of the King.

The arms around his torso readjust to Noct's waist, keeping a tight grasp of his body to ensure he doesn't slip to the ground below. It's having Noctis's body pressed up against his that makes him feel appeased and selfish at the same time, almost as though he were taking advantage of his friend's condition for some weird touch-starved gratification. Ignis knows this couldn't be further from the truth-- in fact, he knows Noctis would be more than willing to hug him once in a while if he so asked for it-- but the way he fits so comfortably in his arms, speaks so softly in the dark warmth of night, makes him feel sinful.

Gladiolus breaks him from this private moment when he calls from the campsite.

“Ignis! I'll get the tent if you make food.” Gladio sounds excited, obviously looking forward to a dinner prepared from Ignis after going without for hours.

As Ignis looks up over the Regalia to shout back a response, it feels as though Noctis's body gives out from underneath him. Whatever weight his scrawny frame was holding up goes slack into Iggy's embrace like a blanket. It doesn't feel stifling like the humidity does, but Ignis can feel the sweat weighing down Noct's clothes.

Ignis calls back with a trite “alright” in an effort to appear nonchalant, even if his heart is beating out of his chest.

It takes some trying, but Iggy manages to get Noctis into his arms. It reminds him of when they were kids, and Noctis would fall asleep on the couch after a long day. Even the face Noctis makes while he sleeps soundly in his hold makes him feel nostalgic for times that have long passed.

He tries to clear the distance between the Regalia and the campsite in as little time as possible. The stones crunch under his feet while he treads through deep green grass, clutching Noctis's body like something priceless while he worries about daemons. The scene before him is incredibly beautiful, which is something he might appreciate if he wasn't worried about being ambushed by daemons.

The area may be wetland, but its environment allows for foliage to take over most of the plane. From their campsite, he can view over the river just a small distance away, and it makes him wonder if Noctis would like to go fishing when he's better. 

Gladiolus has already begun pitching the tent when Ignis meets them at camp. It looks like Prompto went ahead and pulled out a sleeping bag for Noctis to rest on while they take care of sleeping arrangements, which might've been beneficial if Ignis wasn't a little disappointed to let him go. 

“You okay, Specs?” Gladio asks with genuine concern, still immersed in setting up the tent they're meant to share. Prompto is the one who replies, before Ignis has a chance.

“He's just a little down because Noct's sick.”

Ignis thought he did a better job of hiding it. Prompto means well, but sometimes he hits the nail a little too close to the head for his liking. Ignis isn't one for nuances, but the feeling of responsibility and guilt is still weighing heavy on his thoughts. 

Gladio doesn't seem satisfied with that answer, exhaling what sounds like a short laugh. “Not his fault the kid has glass bones and paper skin.”

Prompto's laugh is gentle, but the chiding doesn't stop him from looking concerned when he catches a glimpse of Noct's sleeping face. The sheen of sweat almost makes him glow in the campfire's light, and the fever dream he's having contorts his expression into one of deep concern.

“Uhhh, he doesn't look so good. Why don't you take him to the water before we eat?”

Though Ignis wouldn't entertain that kind of suggestion in any other situation, desperate times call for desperate measures. The idea that the king could die from a fever isn't a thought he'll entertain for long, but it's still a deciding factor. Ignis never thought he'd be in a situation like this, which he chastises himself for not expecting-- part of being at the king's aid is preparing for the unexpected-- which apparently includes the possibility of the strongest person he knows dying from a little headache that turned into a flu.

Ignis agrees tersely after Prompto insists he'll take care of dinner. Cup of noodles will have to suffice, which Gladiolus doesn't protest in the least. Prompto is the one that shows forced unconcern when he cheerfully exclaims “bath-time!”, which doesn't seem to rouse Noctis from sleep.

“Why don't we hang back here for a sec. I need food.” Gladiolus suggests knowingly, though his gaze is still focused on knotting a tether through a stake. He can still almost feel Ignis looking appreciatively at his back, though Prompto seems a little disappointed in this decision.

The premise of eating still far outweighs whatever curiosity he has about what Gladiolus knows. He tries not to let too much disappointment seep through to the surface, though Gladio senses his displeasure in the way Prompto says “okay”.

It looks like the daemons are keeping away from the campfire's light, which eases Ignis's fears. If he focuses intently, he thinks he can hear a Wraith or a Giant in the distant forest, but those fears are dispersed completely when he looks at Noct's sleeping form. It's Noctis that spurs him onward, towards the water's edge, pushing aside his concerns as he's been training to do since childhood.

This isn't the first time they've bathed together. When they trudged through forestry for days on end, there was no choice but to bathe at the same time, keeping a watchful eye over the Lucian prince. In their childhood, there was a time when Noctis was sick after eating undercooked Dualhorn steak, and Ignis sat under the shower with him until the water ran cold and his prince had fallen asleep.

But that was when they were children, and they're men now. It has a different kind of intimacy, but it's one Ignis has to get used to fast in the interest of Noct's safety.

Ignis clears what little distance lies between the camp and the lake in very little time. Noctis is still light and lithe, filling out into adulthood gradually, unlike Gladiolus. He feels like just a few pounds even when he's dead weight in Iggy's embrace, and as he treads as softly as he can through the grass, he tries to pay attention to the sound of his steady breathing rather than illusions of Wraiths in his paranoid subconscious.

When Ignis lies Noctis back into the soft grass, he uses the shirt off his back to keep his king's head supported. Gladiolus and Prompto are uncharacteristically quiet back at the campsite, but when Ignis looks back at the fire, it appears as though they're having a quiet talk behind a now erected tent. From where Ignis sits, the fire is almost like an ominous presence, flickering high like a beacon to draw curious eyes. It's the faint sound of Gladio's chuckling laughter that makes him feel more at ease, but undressing his unconscious friend still feels devious when Noctis doesn't know he loves him.

Ignis pulls up Noctis's thin shirt over his head, and it appears as though his cock has other opinions on what's appropriate when he peels his sweaty clothes off his skin. His t-shirt is pulled just barely over his lower abdomen, but Noct's smooth, pale frame coming into view is all it takes to make his dick throb with interest. As arousal creeps into his lower abdomen, Ignis mutters a quiet “Gods” into the empty space and forces his hands to stop.

Noctis isn't stirring from his fever dream, lost deep in his slumber. The only noise that accompanies him is the sound of crickets chirping in the distance, a chorus to the sound of Noct's steady breathing.

Being in this position doesn't suit him. It's not like him to take advantage of someone who isn't as lucid as himself, but Ignis reasons that he has nothing to feel perversion for. Noctis is horribly sick, covered in sweat, and can't bring himself to stand much less cleanse himself of the virus. He's simply helping an extremely good looking friend in a dire circumstance, even if his dick has other ideas.

His hands continue to slip his casual garb over Noct's lean stomach, careful not to stir him too hastily in the middle of getting his clothes off. Not that he thinks it'll make a difference, seeing as Noctis didn't move a muscle when Prompto was cheering. While he pulls his shirt over his taut torso, exposing his pink little nipples and the delicious curve of his collarbone, Ignis wonders how he'd explain himself if Noctis were to wake up with his clothes off and Ignis's cock hard.

Thankfully, he doesn't have to come up with a shitty sounding excuse. Noctis continues to sleep heavily throughout getting his shirt pulled over his arms, though it's obvious he's cold when a chill runs through his body. It simultaneously makes Ignis feel guilty and hot, his dick almost completely hard just watching him ride out a tremble with his shirt off.

It's the pants that are the hardest. Ignis's fingers slip from the button of Noct's fatigues at least a dozen times, muttering a soft and uncharacteristic “fuck” after yet another failed attempt. When he looks up to cast a glance back towards camp, he can barely make out a fuzzy blond head peering around the edge of the tent. The sight makes him jump, but it doesn't appear like Prompto knows the trouble he's having when Ignis hears his voice chime through the distance.

“You okay over there, buddy?” Prompto's voice is almost sympathetic.

Ignis has to swallow hard before he can reply.

“Never better.”

It seems to be enough for Prompto, because Ignis can see his head retreat back behind the tent. The action makes him wonder what they're talking about, but as he turns back towards the boy sleeping underneath him, the sound Noct makes is a quiet moan while he dreams just beyond Ignis's reach.

Ignis pulls hard at the hemline of his pants with both hands, breaking the button off with the sound of tearing fabric before he can reason with himself. He'll sew it back up at camp later, when Gladiolus and Prompto are busy elsewhere.

If one thing is certain, it's that it speeds up the process significantly. Rather than put himself through any more mental acrobatics, Ignis curls his fingers around the edge of both his capri's and his dark coloured boxers, shifting them over his hips a little more hastily than he tries to seem. He's just happy the others aren't here to watch him devolve into a mess, all over getting his unconscious friend stripped down to nothing.

Of course, there was an unspoken respect that went with having your eyes stay above the belt during bath-time. That doesn't mean it hasn't happened once or twice, but after enough times having your personal space invaded, the awkwardness staves off. It's a necessity when you've been wandering aimlessly through dense forestry for days in the same clothes.

There's just something about this scenario that makes it different. Noctis is burning up with a dangerous temperature, and Ignis can't get over how beautiful he looks in the starlight, his eyes heavy over his naked frame in a way that feels intimate. It makes guilt wrack his brain.

Ignis is unceremonious when he pries his own pants off. When he starts taking off the rest of his clothes, he tries to angle himself away from Noctis's naked frame, doing his best not to make his dick any more interested than it is already. If the boys were to see the predicament he's in, he's not sure he'd ever hear the end of it. Even worse, Gladio would probably try to reassure him that it's perfectly natural to get turned on in the middle of undressing someone, which would make Ignis drop dead from embarrassment.

When he spares another glimpse back towards camp, he's thankful Gladio and Prompto appear busy while they set up a second tent. It figures that they wouldn't want to share a confined space with a violently ill Noctis, but the idea that they're ready to leave the King to his own devices makes him scoff. Ignis can practically hear their voices say something like “He's not really alone if you're taking care of him”, but he's not in a mood to overthink it. He's overtired and overworked enough as it is.

As Ignis shifts to pick Noctis back up from the ground, he tries to think back on the illnesses he's studied on during all those extensive first aid training seminars. Dreading the thought of catching whatever illness Noctis is carrying, Ignis holds tight to his best friend's frame, slipping deeper into the cool water with a sound of satisfaction. The things he does for love.

*

Prompto watches Ignis's retreating back as he makes his way to the lake. Though curious about whatever that was about, he knows better than to gossip with Gladio. It's probably something vastly underwhelming in comparison to food anyway, so he figures he can go without bath night tonight, at the very least. There's always tomorrow.

Despite there being a tomorrow, Gladiolus seems to catch the look of disappointment in Prom's face. The Shield of the King, ever empathetic to Prompto's plight regarding bath-time, clears his throat and gestures him closer with a turn of his head.

Prompto is quick to hide whatever dissatisfaction still lingers in his expression. He meanders over behind Gladiolus's shoulder with interest rather than discomfort, one of his hands heavy over his shoulder as he watches him work. It's a gesture that Prompto doesn't think too much of, but the presence of a warm palm on Gladio's bare skin makes the shield pause momentarily, his fingers stopping short in the middle of tying a tight intricate-looking knot.

“I thought you could learn a thing or two over here. You never know when something like this will come in handy.”

The prospect of learning something makes him exhale through pursed lips, blowing a raspberry sound for a few seconds while he deliberates his proposition carefully. On one hand, Noctis isn't around to take pictures of him showing off any cool fight moves. On the other hand, it's learning how to tie a knot. Eventually he comes to his conclusion, shifting to kneel on the hard ground beside Gladiolus, nodding an agreement.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Don't say it like that. If you don't do it right, your tent could fly away, and then you're sleeping without a roof over your head.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Gladiolus makes a low grunting sound. He's too tired and hungry to protest, and he knows Prompto's already been disappointed with sleeping arrangements on top of losing bath-time and worrying over Noctis. It's not worth bickering over before bed, and he'd rather be trapped in a confined space with a happy Prompto than a sad one.

His fingers are thick, but dextrous. Prom watches a little more intently than he tries to appear. Tying knots isn't very interesting in theory, but as he watches Gladiolus's calloused hands move with graceful experience, Prompto finds it hard to keep track of all the twists and turns he seems to weave, and when the look of concentration that passes over his face catches Gladio's attention, the muscular man laughs softly at the way his eyebrows furrow and his tongue sticks out over his lip.

“That's a taut-line hitch. It's useful for adjustments, but it's not going anywhere.” Gladiolus looks almost proud with his craftsmanship.

“Tell me the truth, dude. Were you a boy scout? The image of you in a scout's uniform is kind of scary.”

Prompto's response earns an even heartier laugh from Gladio. The blond can't help but feel himself melt into that laugh, watching his lips turn up into a smile and his chest heave with every sound. Gladiolus is the kind of guy who Prom feels is like a beacon, drawing people in with his warmth and guidance. It's brief moments like this that make him realize why he's so popular with women, leaving him with a feeling of what's either jealousy or envy. If he were a woman, he thinks he might be swayed by Gladiolus's charisma too.

“My father taught me.” Gladiolus beams. “We used to camp like this, believe it or not.”

The image of Clarus Amicita teaching a young Gladio how to tie a proper knot makes the corners of Prom's lips turn up into a smile. It's a friendly but amused look as he ponders what a gruff looking man like Clarus would look like, teaching a juvenile Gladiolus again and again how to set up a proper camp. Just the idea of Clarus out of his royally appointed attire and in something more casual is entertaining, Prom having to stifle a snort when he pictures his dignified father in shorts and a fishing hat.

Like he knows what he's thinking about, Gladiolus reaches over and gives Prompto's shoulder a playful shove. Prompto catches himself with his hands when Gladio utters a light-hearted “shut up”, but from where he's toppled over, he can peer at the companions by the lake who've been completely silent for the last ten minutes.

As he glances over at Ignis, the darkness obscures a large portion of his vision. The most he can make out is the pale glint of Noctis's body laying still over the grass, and Ignis still working diligently at removing his sweat-soaked clothes. Prompto can almost swear he hears Ignis mutter soft profanity from afar, but when he questions how he's doing, Ignis replies with a convincing “never better” that puts Prompto's mind at ease. Unlike Prom, Ignis actually knows what he's doing.

When Prompto sits back up, turning his fluffy head back towards Gladiolus, he's face to face with Gladio's smiling expression as he catches the stronger man staring over at him. Before Prom can question what he's looking at, Gladiolus is shaking his head, ending whatever conversation had yet to manifold. Gladio extends one of his fingers towards a tent already conveniently stretched over the ground nearby, gesturing to it with his head.

“You're going to help me set that one up. Unless you want to be sleeping with His Highness in all his sweaty glory.”

“Gross, dude.”

“Don't pretend you don't like it.”

The way Prompto sticks out his tongue with repulsion makes Gladiolus laugh yet again. Prompto's just happy Gladiolus is in a good mood despite his sleep and food deprivation, especially with Noct's circumstances making Prom worry. Letting his thoughts run rampant over Noctis's health would only put his own in jeopardy, and Ignis seemed to have the situation totally under control. It'd make sense, seeing as the man has been his servant since long before Prompto came into the picture.

He doesn't notice he's so lost in thought until Gladiolus is whistling a sharp sound. It draws his attention back to the matter at hand, and Prompto sits up straight, cracking his back in the process while he works tension out of his shoulders. As Prom shifts towards Gladiolus's side, it's the shield who closes in what little distance lies between them this time, his hands heavy over Prompto's slender fingers.

Prompto blinks rapidly a few times while his thoughts catch up with him. Gladiolus is bringing his hands to the thread already looped through a slot in one of the tent's stakes, and when he starts guiding Prom's hands through the steps in making a taut-line hitch, the rapid beating in Prompto's chest starts to even out into a more reasonable pace. It makes sense that Gladiolus would be teaching him how to make a knot rather than just holding his hands for fun, but it doesn't change the fact that Prom's face is flushing with embarrassment regardless.

Gladiolus notices the flustered look that starts to overcome Prompto's features, but he's willing to let his shy embarrassment slip under his radar. He's not feeling sadistic enough to tease him about how antsy he seems to get when people touch him, but the thought makes him wonder if it's because of people or because of him. He's not going to pretend like he hasn't entertained the idea once or twice. Prompto is pretty, for a boy.

Gladio has done this so many times, his hands go through the steps solely relying on muscle memory. It's not hard manipulating Prompto's fingers through the motions, correcting his direction with little force necessary, but by the time he's finishing off his knot his hands are lingering just a few moments too long while his thoughts lie elsewhere.

Prompto notices. There's an unfamiliar feeling in his chest he's unsure of, but his hands lay still where they are in Gladiolus's hold, until the taller boy is ready to let go. He's never noticed before, but Gladio is warm and his hands are just as rough as his exterior. Prom can feel the scars and calloused ridges of his palms over his, a reminder of the heavy sword he wields, though when he looks up Gladiolus is slipping his hands away with an apologetic “sorry about that”.

Gladiolus looks a lot more calm in comparison to Prompto, but he's determined to feign a casual atmosphere, despite the way he looks at him making him feel different.

“You're not a bad teacher, y'know. Maybe Ignis would make a badge for your sash.”

Gladiolus's smile is amused, though his eyes look distant. He mutters something like “yeah, maybe,” while Prompto turns his gaze momentarily back to the lake.

Ignis appears to be leisurely gliding through the still water that envelops himself and Noctis. The King's head rests on his shoulder while they drift through the river together, and the sight makes Prompto sigh before he can help himself, still somewhat bitter about losing on the opportunity to bathe tonight. Almost immediately, a wave of guilt crashes over him, chastising himself silently for feeling resentful over Noct's illness. Gladiolus will have to take a bath with him if they hope to get out of here as soon as possible, but 'soon' can be anywhere from tomorrow to three days from now. Ignis won't want to compromise Noct's safety if he can help it, and Prompto won't put up a fight if he believes the King needs more time to recuperate.

Gladiolus pitches the second tent with relative ease while Prompto is busy longing. He can't say he blames the kid for feeling disappointed-- Gladiolus is sticky himself-- but feeling helpless while your friend is so sick must be doing a number on his conscience. He's still not too concerned about the situation, knowing Noctis has gotten out of much worse predicaments in the past. A few days of rest and fluid and he'll be right as rain. The King being so stressed out certainly isn't helping, so this down-time would be good for him. Ignis is fretting over him like some kind of housemother, but this down-time would be good for him too.

Prompto decides that instead of brooding, he should bother with making food. The feeling of hunger in his tummy is starting to become a presence hard to ignore, and Gladiolus seemed to have already started boiling water for their noodles preemptively. It still doesn't stop him from sighing loudly while he fixes them something to eat, sure to leave an extra cup out for Ignis on his journey back to camp.

Gladio sneaks glances at him with most of his sighs. Occasionally, the sound makes him roll his eyes, but he's far too tired to start an argument. The moon hanging high in the night sky is a reminder of the sleep that draws him in, a catalyst to the all-nighter they had pulled the night before, gruelling even without Noctis's sudden sickness from wandering around in a mine shaft.

The tent he set up for Noctis is much larger than the spare he brought for himself and Prompto. It would be unfair to shove them in a small space together when Noct needs all the rest and comfort he can, and it's obvious at this point that Ignis would be unrelenting to let him sleep alone. Iggy would rather be trapped in a containment unit with a literal plague-carrying Noctis than be on the other side, forced to watch him suffer by himself.

It's been a long time since Prompto has slept with anyone individually from the group, and though it normally wouldn't phase him, knowing Noctis isn't doing well makes him feel off. While Gladiolus scarfs down his noodles like a starving Behemoth, Prom can't help but spare one last lingering glance at the waters edge, watching as Ignis cradles Noctis close to his person. It's a bittersweet moment that leaves Prompto feeling a little bit like a voyeur, and he suddenly realizes what Gladiolus was getting at when he mentioned leaving them alone.

It's not right to feel jealous, but it rears its ugly head like a beast for a few dwindling seconds. When Gladiolus suggests bedtime as Prompto finishes his noodles, he's all too eager to climb into the tent and takes his eyes away from the intimate scene. Despite being tired, sleep is hard to find.

*

As Ignis enters the lukewarm lake, sinking deeper into naturally purified water, the sound Noctis makes is a groan of displeasure as a sudden coldness wraps around his frame. Ignis feels even more warm and inviting than he did with clothes obscuring his frame, the intense heat of Noctis's core making the air around him feel like an icy chill.

The sound is pitiful. It would be gut-wrenching if Ignis wasn't already brooding, his stomach twisted up in guilty, worried knots. In order to keep him from slipping out of his grasp, he has one of his hands resting comfortably underneath the King's soft bare thigh, his other forearm wrapped securely around his back like a one-armed hug. In this position, he can feel Noctis's heartbeat thud steadily in his chest. It's much more rhythmically paced compared to the beating of Iggy's heart.

Noctis rests his head comfortably in the crook of Ignis's neck, his body stirring from unconsciousness when the cold becomes too much. The world feels like it's spinning around him, teetering from side to side when his eyes crack open to survey his surroundings. The King murmurs “night already?” in the same soft-spoken tone he uses after being roused from sleep, but Ignis's response is little more than a soft “shhh” accompanied with the gentle movement of his hand rubbing his back.

Whatever concern Noctis had before melts away into the water while they drift soundlessly. The water feels more bearable the longer they stay drifting, and Noctis latching tighter around Ignis's frame allows him to siphon the heat he needs. Every gentle touch feels welcoming, easing him into a more comfortable state of mind while they coast along.

Ignis still has a pressing issue below his waist. The initial panic starts to seep out of him when Noctis holds tighter to him with what little strength he can muster, but his nervousness isn't quelled completely. His cock is still so hard its almost aching, begging for attention just under Noct's plush little ass, even if he won't entertain it. On the single upside, the gang hasn't decided to join them in this adventure, the little privacy he's been afforded this time more like a blessing than a favour.

Ignis sighs into the warm night air, but Noctis stays quiet. He's determined to leech off whatever heat he can get from Ignis's body, and when he clutches him with a grip as weak as he feels, Noct's length shifts up against the lean expanse of Iggy's stomach while they drift. The tactician is trying to reassure himself that it's one of those no big deal things. Just some guys being dudes, assisting a friend when he's in a serious and potentially dire situation in the only way he possibly can.

What doesn't help is the way Noctis buries his face against Ignis's neck, nuzzling against his skin with a soft-spoken “thank you”. Ignis can feel his lips move against his throat while he speaks, which makes him swallow hard, thankfully going unnoticed despite the permeating silence and the close confines between them.

Ignis quiets him one more time, his fingertips grazing over his skin in soft, lingering strokes. It's a moment that he doesn't want to part with, watching the fireflies drift from plant to plant just as lazily as they glide through the lake, every gentle breeze making the trees rustle excitedly. The moonlight makes Noctis look almost holy, and Ignis genuinely can't think of a more apt name for him than Nocti.

He spares a glance towards the now empty campsite, watching the fire lick towards the sky, wondering just how much it'll hurt when Noctis is married to someone else.

*  
Gladiolus normally falls asleep relatively easily. It's not his fault that Prompto keeps tossing and turning, sighing and exhaling, periodically hitting him with an elbow or a knee. Just as he thinks he's about to let sleep take him away, Prompto is kicking him inadvertently or turning onto one of his sides with a loud dramatic sigh.

It doesn't sound like Noctis is mumbling in his sleep in the tent next to them, so Gladiolus figures it's safe to assume that Ignis hasn't retired for the night just yet. Just as Prompto pulls his sleeping bag over his overheated body, it's Gladio's turn to exhale a deep sigh, his fingertips rubbing his temple in an attempt to alleviate an imminent headache.

“Can't you just stop.”

“I can't! I'm not used to this... whatever this is.”

Gladiolus may be tired, but incidentally, not tired enough to let Prompto's response go unnoticed. It's not a reply he was anticipating, but if there's something he appreciates about Prom's cheeky innocence, it's that he's open with things in a way Noctis isn't. If he had told Noct to stop, he would've gotten an indignant buzz off and a hard shove.

“Whatever what is?” Gladiolus is about to continue protesting whatever Prompto's implying, stopping short of a discussion about the previous hand-holding. It turns out to be a good thing that he holds his tongue, as what's on Prompto's mind isn't about that at all.

“I'm just not used to sleeping without them. Y'know, crammed in a big tent, side-by-side. It wasn't always comfortable, but not having them nearby is... weird.”

Oh. It's another response Gladiolus wasn't expecting. The shield turns to look over at the smaller boy for a moment, resisting the temptation to tease him about missing them when it hasn't even been three hours. There's something about the way Prompto looks in the dim light that makes him stop short. In the quiet darkness of the tent, he can make out the frown in Prompto's expression, his pretty lips turned into a sad look. Something about it makes Gladio want to keep it off his face entirely, disquieted by a simple expression made at the roof of their shared tent.

“Would cuddling make you feel better?” Gladiolus poses the question teasingly. There's a tone to his voice that's non-serious, intentionally trying to make Prompto laugh or push him or complain loudly about wanting another tent. Anything that isn't that frown.

There's a few moments of heavy silence that lingers in the space between them as Gladio breathes gentle laughter, but the sound of a sleeping bag shifting in the darkness makes him still. Just as he's prepared to get snapped at for making light of the situation, he's instead met with the feeling of Prompto's body shifting up against his side, obviously poised to cuddle as he leans into his frame.

Prompto fits comfortably into the area by his side, even separated by the sleeping bags they tucked into for the night. Gladiolus can feel his own breath hitch when Prom rests his head over his muscular chest, his blond hair just barely grazing over the underside of his jaw. With the way the gunman is resting, it's likely he can hear the change of pace in Gladiolus's heartbeat, but the reminder of Prompto's sad expression in the dark is what stops him from pulling away to spare his pride.

Prom gets comfortable, and Gladio can feel how he relaxes. The tension ebbs out of his frame in waves, like coming home after a long day at work. The way he drapes one of his arms over Gladio's torso strikes a chord in his heart he can't quite place, but Prompto feels and looks so comfortable there, he can't bring himself to correct him for being a baby. Gladiolus's arm gradually shifts around Prompto's body, his hand resting over one of his bare arms protectively, and he can almost feel Prompto sinking into his embrace before the chocobo lover's breathing starts to steady in his sleep.

Long after Prompto starts to snore and drool a puddle of saliva over his shirt, Gladiolus stares vacantly into nothing in particular, wondering just what the fuck he's doing with himself.


	2. Chapter 2

When the king's tactician can't find any loose-fitting clothes for him, it's Gladiolus who's kind enough to lend some of his. Ignis proposes the question politely outside the zipped up tent, and it almost sounds as though his presence startled him, if the sound of a sleeping bag jostling in the silence is anything to go by. The answer he gets is a curt agreement, one that Ignis already expected, though it seems like Gladiolus is trying to get rid of him.

The night feels long, thick with humidity and buzzing aloud with the sound of locusts. Every passing breeze delivers little solace from the sweltering heat, carrying the smell of sweet flora. It almost makes Ignis reconsider placing the king inside the confined space of their tent, but it's the best option, even if it's stifling and sticky. The best he can do is pull Noctis into Gladiolus's clothes, a deep black wifebeater and shorts that don't fit properly in the waistline.

Ignis had his body completely naked while they drifted not too long before, and he still finds his eyes drawn to the expanse of his skin laid bare in Gladiolus's clothing. His wifebeater slips over his shoulders and falls low behind the curve of his back, which captures his gaze for a few moments too long. Now that he has the opportunity to look-- really look-- he can see where Noctis is gaining muscle and losing whatever softness he had. Noct had always been lean growing up, but where there was a flat canvas to drag his fingers over, there was now more definition. His shoulders are broader, his biceps gradually filling out, and Ignis figures he can contribute some of these changes to the Royal Arms lending him power.

He doesn't have the opportunity to admire the aesthetic beauty of his King for long. There's a short window of time between his staring and when Noctis starts to turn, his eyes still closed, reaching blindly for a body to touch. Ignis doesn't have the heart to deny him this little desire, laying still in the quiet space of their tent, prepared to give up his comfort in favour of his prince.

Noctis eases into it quickly, unconcerned with the outside world. His body is draped over Ignis's frame before long, an arm tossed haphazardly over his chest, laying half-way on top of him and partially sprawled out over an unused sleeping bag. Though he might be averse to having bodily fluids drench through his clothes, there's an exception to this rule when it comes to appeasing Noctis.

That's what he tells himself. This is about appeasing his Prince, and that's it. There appears to be a disconnect somewhere between his thoughts and his cock, which seems more interested in the warmth that Noct's body resonates than being reasonable. 

Sleep doesn't happen for Ignis tonight, but he wasn't expecting any rest in the first place.

Knots have wound themselves tightly in his abdomen. The guilt of knowing he's turned on while Noctis doesn't know what's happening is like a weight, sitting heavy in his chest and pushing towards his stomach. It's wrong and perverse on many different levels, one of the most prominent being that this is his Prince. King Regis appointed him as chamberlain with the understanding that he wouldn't take advantage of his precious heir, his only son, and here Ignis was practically spitting on his unspoken vows. Regis would be rolling in his grave.

When Ignis tries to shift over, out from underneath the weighted presence of his King, Noctis can feel him starting to retreat. It's not something he'll let happen lightly, reaching out blindly once more, his fingertips twisting in the fabric of Ignis's shirt in a desperate clutching motion. It's something that makes Ignis's heart wrench hard in his chest, and his desire to put space between them is smothered like flame from a candle.

Having him give up might satiate Noct for a few lingering moments, but it's not long before he's slipping into fever dreams.

Noctis settles back into unconsciousness easily once he can feel Ignis underneath him, compliant and still after what the little prince assumes is just Specs trying to get comfortable. It's hard not to after all that time spent trying to find the entrance to the tomb, narrowly evading a few nasty gashes from a Yojimbo that seemed almost uncharacteristically strong, only to have the King come down with a fever from the exertion.

In his dreams, the sky is a void, as matte as a can of paint. A single star flickers on in the distant abyss, but upon closer inspection, the star is an eye staring back at him. Noctis can feel himself melt into it, an anxious sweat breaking over his sleeping form, his fingers clenching hard and then releasing in sporadic movements.

Fever dreams aren't supposed to make sense, but the eye as blue as the oceans of the Ghaldin Quay begins to take shape. It no longer belongs to a nondescript being, but instead look back the eyes of his father, turned towards his son in silent knowing. The same expression he wore the day he set Noctis free is ingrained on his face when the sword enters his heart from behind, a blooming red stain seeping from the wound like tendrils while King Regis smiles on with suppressed sadness.

Ignis is just about to try soothing the twitchy King when Noctis awakes with a startled cry, eyes flickering open, his chest heaving while he catches his breath. The way he grips his shirt has his knuckles turning white, but once he's no longer sleeping, his fear dissipates with his dream. All that remains is his overwhelming sadness, cascaded over him like a river with a broken dam.

Iggy isn't a mind reader, but he knows Noctis well enough to know when he's upset. It's the way he tries to purse his lips together, his shoulders slumping visibly even in the dim light of a crackling campfire outside the tent. Ignis reaches over with the arm not trapped under Noct's weight, and when the palm of his warm hand brushes over his cheek, Noctis didn't realize he'd been crying while he slept.

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you wish to talk about it?”

“Not now.”

It's not a response Ignis wants to hear, but it's one he'll respect. It comes second nature to pry into his affairs when it comes to his well-being, whether it be physical or mental, but something about this is different. Respecting his boundaries doesn't apply to nursing him back to health, however, and Ignis is quick to take his temperature with the back of his hand on his forehead while he's still awake.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

The answers are short, but concise. Noctis is still warm, but wading in the river seemed to help, his fever no longer a threat to his safety. The cool touch of Ignis's hand on his forehead makes him groan, leaning into it despite the difference in temperature between them, and Ignis almost forgets about the problem below his waist until Noct is turning ever deeper into his embrace.

The King shifts his leg over the tactician's body before Ignis can move, his thigh resting above his hard cock through thin layers of clothes. There's no way Noctis doesn't feel the issue he's having in this position, his leg resting between Ignis's spread ones, arm still draped loosely around Iggy's middle like a pseudo-hug.

Everything seems to still. The campfire crackling just outside the tent is the only thing that moves, shadows flickering across the walls, the crickets chirping softly in the distance. Ignis is just about to recoil in a desperate attempt to retain his pride when Noctis moves his leg again, purposefully, drawing his knee up and shifting his thigh over his length with a pressure that he just can't ignore.

Ignis starts to say Noctis's name when the king moves, and the sound Ignis makes in response is a quiet groan when he shifts, his name caught in his throat in a way that makes Iggy heat up with embarrassment. The moment to save some of his pride is long gone under the duress of his touches, but he's not sure he wants to anymore when Noctis responds with a quiet “shhh”, akin to the way he quieted him while they drifted through the open water.

It occurs to him there are people sleeping in the tent nearby, Ignis's mouth pursing shut under this revelation. Just as he contemplates reprimanding him for his inappropriate behaviour, Noctis moves his leg again, effectively rubbing his cock through his pants in a hard little movements.

Ignis can feel himself leaking pre-cum under his pyjamas. Thankfully all their attire is more or less black, and Ignis has never felt more grateful of this fact when his cock is aching, every slow shift of Noct's leg dragging the fabric of his clothes over his dick. There's no time to consider the implications when his brain focuses all of his attention on the way he feels, cozily nestled up against his chest, touching his cock entirely of his own volition.

He almost can't hear Noctis when he mutters “help me” in the dark. The sound has Ignis turning to look at his face, met with deep, glowing grey eyes blinking sleepily back at him, his leg pausing but resting still over his throbbing cock. Ignis realizes that Noctis is probably spent, whispering a soft “oh” that's both an exclamation and a moan he can't help. Tentatively, Ignis rests the palm of his hand just underneath Noct's bare thigh, caressing the smooth skin of his body selfishly. His hand slides over his leg in short, gentle strokes, the sound of longing in Noctis's groan making his gut twist and his dick leak cum all over his abdomen.

Just as slowly, Ignis moves Noct's leg for him. His hand grips his leg softly, fingertips pressing into his pliant skin just barely, grinding his thigh into his cock in the same motion Noctis set just moments before. The sound Ignis makes is a deep exhale, his own hips shifting up into the warmth of his body, rubbing his length back against his leg. His thoughts keep drifting towards bending Noctis over and fucking him raw, but he refrains for reasons all too obvious.  
That added movement is all he needs to get even closer to an orgasm. It's also the shift of his hips that makes him realize Noctis is getting hard, his pelvis pressed up against his waist, grinding back into his prince's cock when he rolls forward.

Noctis tries to be quiet, but having his dick rubbed back catches him off guard. Though it's nice not to have to think for a few seconds, Ignis does the thinking for him, and he can feel the arm laying underneath his shoulders start to move. Noct almost thinks he's preparing to move away from him until there are fingers pressing up against his lips, his hand drawing closed over his mouth in a way that's firm but gentle.

Ignis was just taking care to keep him quiet, lest Gladiolus and Prompto start to wonder, but it looks like it effects him even harder than he intended. Noctis's groan is stifled under the clasp of his hand, but Ignis can feel how it reverberates against his palm, loud and needy and settling straight to his cock. He's so focused on the feeling that he notices how Noct's dick gets even harder, the tent in his pants obscured by the dim lighting. Ignis would love nothing more than to move his hand away and hear him make those noises for him, but this isn't the time or place to let his little prince sob and groan nice and loud for him.

Ignis grips a little harder at his thigh, which makes Noct's cock throb. As he rolls his hips into his leg, he presses more firmly between Noct's legs, grinding into his length at the same time while he gets himself off. Noctis whines behind his hand, and Ignis fucks up into his leg a little harder, spilling cum all over himself when he orgasms hard. It hits him like a punch to the gut, his lips quick to purse shut before he ends up screaming. He rides out his orgasm against his leg until his cock is finished spilling, his chest heaving while he breathes heavy, still trembling in the aftermath and drenched in his own cum.

There's no time to wallow in his own self-loathing just yet. He can still feel Noct's hard cock pressing into his waist, a reminder that his business isn't yet finished. When Ignis rolls over, turning Noctis onto his back like a precious heirloom, the sound Noct makes when he realizes they're no longer cuddling is pitiful. It makes Ignis's heart feel heavy, but he's quick to reassure him, whispering “I'm not going anywhere” while he lingers above him in a way that's far too affectionate for friendship.

Noctis still looks desperate to keep him while Ignis hovers over him, intent on making him stay put despite the wetness in his clothes. Ignis takes a few moments to admire the way his king looks sprawled out underneath him, his hair spilling out over the pillow he rests on, his bottom lip pouting visibly in the dark. Noctis looks like he's scared to lose him, prepared to reach out and stop him from leaving if he dared try. 

Ignis has his elbows propped up on the ground to either side of Noct's head. He places his knees between the king's partially spread legs, opening them up wider for him. Noctis isn't quite spreading them, but the warmth Ignis can feel when their legs touch is almost enough to get him solid all over again. Getting hard with brief, lingering touches makes him feel almost like a touch-starved teenage boy again, which isn't very far from the truth.

Noctis doesn't take it personally when Ignis's lips meet his neck instead of his mouth. If there's any chance of Ignis getting sick from this virus, the opportunity has already passed, but whatever precautions Ignis can take he should take. Noctis isn't as good at playing doctor as Ignis is.

The moment his mouth is leaving hot open-mouthed kisses on his throat, Noctis is groaning. His eyes screw shut when the feeling surges towards his cock, but Ignis either doesn't notice or doesn't mind, his lips travelling ever further south despite the shirt in his way. The shirt that doesn't pose too much of an obstruction, apparently, as Ignis pulls the hemline of it towards Noct's chest.

Noctis realizes he is feeling a little better when the cold doesn't bother him like before. Ignis's mouth feels hot and welcoming on his bare skin, drawing his mind into the moment. It keeps his thoughts away from bad dreams, feeling sick, worrying about the future. Every kiss lingers still on his chest as Ignis's mouth moves towards those loose-fitting shorts lying flat over his waist. It occurs to him somewhere that they must be Gladiolus's, meant to be fit around hips that are wide and square, not slender and narrow.

While Noctis is busy thinking about shorts and kisses, Ignis starts pulling at his clothes, leaving his shirt tucked up under his arms. It occurs to him that he's sweaty and probably gross, nervousness starting to creep up into his chest before he can help himself. Noctis reaches his hands out towards him, starting to protest, his sentence cut short by a loud whine when Ignis takes his cock into his mouth and sucks hard.

Noctis groans a strained “Oh, Gods” before he can stuff his pillow into his mouth, his teeth biting down hard when Ignis continues to swallow, his mouth so wet he drools down the side of his cock. The hands that were reaching out to stop him take hold of Ignis's hair instead, bracing himself as best he can when he's already so weak. Ignis's body keeps him from shutting his legs, held open around his lean but muscular chest while he sucks him off like he's done this before.

Before he can help himself, Ignis is taking him all the way down his throat. Noct has never been more thankful to have his face buried in the pillow when he sobs hard, Ignis's mouth so tight and warm and wet he's cumming a lot sooner than he would've liked to. Even if it catches Ignis off guard, he can feel him pulling off his cock until his lips are wrapped around the head, swallowing every last bit of cum he has to offer. Noctis pushes the pillow even harder into his face when his sobbing devolves into whimpers, trembling all the way down to his toes.

He's still breathing heavily when Ignis pulls off his cock, but he stays put for a few seconds, his hands soft on the outside of Noct's thighs. His fingertips stroke absently at the soft skin there while he licks his own drool off his length, cleaning him up before he can slip Gladiolus's shorts back to their rightful place around his hips. 

Ignis is also the one who slides Noct's shirt back down his trembling chassis, his eyes taking great care to rove over Noct's body while he still can. He drinks in every inch of him, taking him in before his shame can catch up with his selfishness. 

In the dark, Noctis is his moon.

Ignis moves back to his rightful side of the tent, and Noctis shifts back against him before sleep calls him into fever dreams. The arm of the king lies still long after Noctis's breathing goes steady, the only sound he can focus on for quite some time afterwards. There are plenty of thoughts turning in his head, making it difficult to piece them all together, but focusing on the sound of his exhaling seems to put his mind at ease if only for a few hours.

Eventually, Ignis manages to slip away from the tent to clean himself up. There's a large wet stain seeping through his attire, leaving his black clothes with even deeper black streaks where cum spattered over his abdomen. In the time it takes to clean himself off; find a new change of clothes, and crawl back into bed with Noctis, Ignis has plenty of time for his guilt to catch up with him.

His duty to the now deceased king. The vows he made when he arraigned to become Noct's most trusted individual. Noctis's illness because of his persistence. The marriage meant to symbolize the coming together of two kingdoms, now tainted with unfaithfulness, his own deviance now a knife in the back of Lady Lunafreya.

He thinks about things long until the sun is rising, and Prompto can be heard crawling out of his tent, already on the lookout for leftovers.

*

“What is that.” Prompto says, his mouth full of cup noodles.

Ignis is zipping up his tent when he turns to see what Prompto is referring to. His eyes follow what Prom is looking at until he's staring at the charred remains of his pyjamas in the fire, Ignis's expression contorting into as blank a slate as he can muster.

“I saw a bug.”

“Dude,” Prompto sounds amused. “even I don't like bugs, but don't you think that's a little overkill?”

“It was a really gross bug.” Ignis deadpans.

Gladiolus, standing in front of his own tent, casts a curious look back at the chef. Prompto seemed to have picked up on something uncharacteristic in Ignis's demeanour as well, because the blond catches Gladio's gaze, shrugs, and goes back to shovelling down food like a starving Seadevil.

From the silence that follows his response, Ignis assumes the conversation is over. Exhaustion is starting to take its toll, but there have been many a time where Ignis pulled an all-nighter or two. Usually it was during the weeks where Noctis was busy attending functions and ceremonies, when Ignis was tasked with helping him the most. There was balancing his schedules and keeping him in the know of all the important figureheads, and then the excess stuff, like making him meals and helping him study. 

It's been 48 hours without sleep though, and it's starting to look obvious on his face. When Ignis is finally joining the group, already as well-kept as he was going to get, it's Prompto who says something about it before Gladio has the opportunity to.

“Jeez, you look like crap.”

The blunt honesty of the reply makes Gladio feel like smiling, but it really isn't the time to laugh. In fact, he does look like crap, his face drained of colour and his eyes accentuated with dark circles. Though the look Gladiolus tries to cast Prompto in response is one of stern reprove, Prom looks back with such naked innocence that Gladio has to look away.

“He's right. How much sleep did you have?” Gladiolus inquires deeper, taking his mind off Prompto's eyes.

Ignis sighs softly as though he doesn't want to reply. He knows once he mentions it, Gladiolus will try to fuss over him, and the last thing he needs right now is more attention. 

“A few hours, albeit interrupted.” Ignis lies.

“Well.” It's a lie Gladiolus believes. “There's no point in wasting away precious daylight.”

“Where are we going?” Prompto seems to perk up when Gladio suggests going out. 

Ignis knows they're both antsy to get out of the campsite, and it makes sense that they'd like to collect some bounties from a nearby area, as Iggy has already deduced. There's nothing that should warrant his attention being anywhere else except Noctis, which is why Gladiolus's reply comes as a surprise to them both.

“You're not going anywhere, shortstack. You're keeping an eye on his highness while we go hunting.”

Prompto nearly chokes on some egg in his mouth, displeased with both being called shortstack and getting left behind to care for Patient Zero. He looks back at the tent where Noctis sleeps soundly, his eyebrows furrowing with concern. It's not that he didn't feel bad-- if anything, he felt too bad-- but the idea that something could go wrong while he was left alone with Noctis was itching as his brain. Things had a tendency to go wrong at the most inopportune times, and being trapped in an enclosed space with the contagion was an inevitability.

“What? Me? I am like, the least qualified! What happens if he starts to choke on his own vomit? What if he gets a fever like that again?” Prompto frets, his cup noodles forgotten in his hand.

“See? He's got it under control.” Gladiolus starts to reassure Ignis when they both start to protest, his hands on Ignis's back as he starts to usher him out of the campsite.

Prompto continues to protest nervously long after they're both out of sight, disappearing into the forestry surrounding the Astor Sloughs.

The foliage of the wetlands is a reasonable distraction, but Ignis has a lot on his mind. Gladiolus talks up a storm about some new kind of cup noodles he read about in a magazine back at Lestallum, and Ignis's replies are short, but enough to keep him satisfied. While they walk through the planes in a way that Ignis feels is aimless, the encounters with beasts are slim, obviously avoiding the surrounding area for reasons that Ignis feels Gladio will explain soon.

It's not long before Ignis starts to recognize the area they walk through. The trees and the rock formations start to look more familiar as time goes by, and if his memory of the map serves him correctly, Gladiolus seemed to be leading him towards the Chocobo outpost. Though the lack of sleep might be fucking with his perception, it doesn't take long before Ignis is putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

“Oh, no. Oh, no, no no. We shan't be doing that today.” Ignis stops short when the outpost comes into view just over the sloping hill, and Gladiolus looks amused, though he tries to feign innocence.

“Do what today, Specs?”

“The behemoth. We have neither the strength nor the company--”

“So I wanted to take you out for something to eat, is that so wrong? You didn't have breakfast this morning,” before Ignis can say he's not hungry, Gladiolus is talking over him, cutting his sentence short. “and neither did I. How 'bout it?”

Ignis finds it almost amusing that Gladiolus can see through his exterior so simply, and yet not at all. Using himself as a playing chip to take care of him makes the corner of his mouth twitch up into a smile, though when he spares another glance towards the chocobo post, he figures there can't be anything wrong with having breakfast together. It's not the plan to take down the legendary Dead-Eye he thought it was, so it's a start.

“I suppose that would be reasonable.” Ignis's response is polite, but there's something else under the tone of his voice that Gladiolus can't place his finger on. Nonetheless, Gladio claps a hand on his shoulder while they begin the walk towards the post, looking pretty satisfied with himself.

While Gladiolus busies himself with turning in bounties already collected from yesterday's escapades, Ignis buys a cactuette from the shopkeeper and feeds a particularly antsy looking chocobo. It keeps him distracted long enough for Gladiolus to order him something from the menu, and an expensive drink that looks like something you'd get from the Quay. When Ignis takes a seat in the chair opposite Gladiolus, the food is already paid for, so there's not much fuss he can put up against it.

Gladiolus watches as he eats with a fervent pace he doesn't usually see in the collected tactician. It doesn't take a detective's sleuthing skill to draw to the conclusion that Ignis must've been starving, and the leftover cup noodles Prompto was eating this morning must've been his from last night.

He's hasn't been eating, Gladiolus thinks silently to himself. He's been lying about how much he slept.

Ignis looks up to see Gladiolus peering over at him with a slight upturn to his lips, already half-way through his meal while Ignis polished off the last morsel. It's not something that occurs to him as suspect, but Gladio has already pieced the puzzle together.

“Something on your mind?” Ignis questions, bringing the straw of his drink to his own lips.

“I think we should do it.”

Ignis nearly chokes on his drink, and Gladiolus pauses, looking amused while his eyebrows creep ever upwards.

“The behemoth, I mean.”

“I already told you. I don't think two people facing a monster of those proportions would help.”

“You're forgetting one little thing, Specs.”

“And what would that be, Gladio?”

“We're not 'people',” he points out. “We're Crownsguard.”

Ignis doesn't look persuaded. For a moment of quiet contemplation, he ponders the benefits and detriments to taking on a beast of that size with only two in the cavalry. 

“All the more reason to keep our necks attached to our body, mind you.”

“Come on, Ignis.” Gladiolus leans forward as though he were going to share a secret, looking insistent on getting him to agree. Ignis knows that with enough persuasion, he'll accept on a very fine set of conditions, and Gladiolus knows he knows it as well. “With my brawn and your brains, we're pretty much unstoppable. A little stealth, some serious firepower, we'll be in and out before you know it. Hell, they'll probably be so grateful, they'll give us chocobos to ride back with.”

At the mention of firepower, a light is flickering on in Ignis's overtired head. His mind is drawn back to a book he may have read once or twice on giant beasts, reminding himself of their vulnerability to flame. When he thinks about it, they do have an overabundance of Fira potions. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation, or those worries about Noct starting to pique in the quiet moments between conversation, but defeating the behemoth starts to look more and more like a golden opportunity. There were chocobos to think about, after all.

“Fine,” Ignis sighs, pulling away from the table with a look of defeat passing over his face.

Gladiolus cheerfully asks about the behemoth's dominion to a very grateful looking Wiz, and Ignis gets the feeling that he's made yet another terrible mistake.

*

Back at camp, things are quiet. A little too quiet for Prompto's tastes.

It's not that he didn't anticipate the boredom, but actually being faced with permeating silence was another matter altogether. There was no WiFi for miles to bide his time with, and the games on his phone had already been ran through over half a dozen times over the course of their journey. It was a bad time to be left with little to do beyond watching Noctis sleep.

The cup of noodles is finished far sooner than Prompto would've liked. By the time he's staring at an empty plastic container, the rumble in his tummy has been satiated, but it's still not enough. He figures there's little problem with eating some of their provisions-- after all, they should be making way to an outpost to replenish supplies, sooner or later-- if he could cook to save his life.

That doesn't stop him from trying. There's enough luncheon meat to make a sandwich, so thankfully the cooking supplies don't have to be touched. He's not sure he could reasonably explain why their campsite spontaneously caught flame.

In the middle of preparing himself something to eat, something catches his eye in the corner of his vision, just beyond the treeline. Movement. It's far too light out to be a daemon, but the unmistakable view of something bright red disappearing in the thicket catches his attention almost immediately.

Prompto stands there with his hand poised over the cutlery, but after a few long moments of staring into the trees, he shakes it off as a trick of the light. 

Now's not the time to get antsy.

Gladiolus and Ignis aren't too far away, anyway.

The sound of tent fabric starting to rustle behind him very nearly makes his heart leap up his throat, but when the sound of Noctis starting to wake meets his ears, Prompto is laughing a relieved breath of air.

“Ignis?” The zipper stops moving, and Prompto realizes he probably gave up.

“Just me, buddy.” Prom calls back, a little louder than intended. It feels more comforting than listening to the gentle rustle of trees in a warm wind, which starts to sound more ominous the quieter it gets.

The reply he gets back is a murmured “oh”, obscured by the walls of the marquee. At the very least, having Noctis wake up at all during the day is promising. It means he's getting better, even if he doesn't quite look the part.

Prompto fixes another sandwich in the hopes that he can force Noctis to eat something. It's been a long time without for him, which can't be good for his system. Prom imagines that if Ignis were here, he'd probably agree, though he'd insist on cutting it into bite-sized pieces and handing it to Noctis on a My Little Behemoth plate.

The thought makes him laugh to himself, but Noctis doesn't seem to notice. Prompto unzipped the entryway to the tent with one hand whilst he balanced the plate on his other, suddenly unconcerned with the idea of being forced into a shared space with a severely ill comrade. When he thought about it at length, he realizes that his sickness might have something to do with those headaches that started to spur back at Lestallum, like a symptom of a larger problem. Ignis doesn't seem to be keeling over from the same affliction after spending the night, at least, even if he insists on taking precautions anyway.

It's not a comforting thought, but there's a little part of him that feels proud about his deduction skills. It takes his mind off Gladiolus, at least. 

Noctis is sprawled out sideways across the tent, surrounded in a comfortable looking blanket that's still draped partially off his frame. His arms are laid out in front of himself as though he were slumbering, but his eyes are open and staring at Prompto's face as he makes his way inside the stifling tent.

“Damn, Iggy put you in here? It's kind of muggy. We should try to get you some fresh air soon.”

“You're starting to sound like him.”

“Haha, I should probably spend less time around them when you're not around to keep me sane.”

“Nah. I like it. Suits you.”

There's something about being praised for his doting that settles in his chest like a warm hug. Prompto beams from where he's crouching, setting the plate down on the ground near Noctis's head. He sits back on his ass so he can kick off his shoes before entering, not daring to track any dirt in behind him, leaving the tent unzipped for an errant breeze to clean out stale air.

“I'll leave the mother-henning to him, I promise. How do you feel?”

“Still shit.”

“Maybe some food will make you feel better!”

“Doubt it.”

Prompto's optimism isn't crushed in the least by Noctis's stoic nihilism. If anything, he's far too used to it by now to feel phased. He pulls his knees up into a criss-cross position while he idles near the exhausted Prince, who is still laying on his side, peering up at the gunman through tired well-worn eyes. After all that sleep, Prompto would've thought he'd be feeling more refreshed. Apparently not.

“Come on, you can try! You haven't eaten anything in the last... forever.”

The reply he gets is another tired groan. Noctis stares at the sandwich like it's sand rather than a hearty meal, but that doesn't stop Prompto from picking up a triangular cut slice, bringing it to his lips insistently against Noct's judgment. Just to appease him, the Prince tries taking a bite, but he chews for what feels like hours and swallows it down dry. It feels like cotton stuck in his windpipe, but he tries coughing it down, enduring it like it's more of an obligation than a choice. Which it is, as far as Prompto's concerned.

“Dude. You really are sick.”

“What gave it away?”

At least his sarcasm is still going strong, Prompto muses to himself. The sound he made when he tries choking down that little bite isn't promising, but in his hastiness to please, Prompto exclaims “Wait right here!” before he leaves the tent to retrieve a drink. The sound of Noctis replying “as if I had a choice” is bitter but muffled away into nothing as Prom crosses the campsite.

Thankfully, Ignis packed enough extra bottles of water that he doesn't have to feel bad about taking one. The problem, he realizes, is that Noctis seems to have an extremely difficult time sitting up enough to actually drink it. Prompto is right when he assumes Ignis didn't have the foresight to bring straws, as a quick rummage through their provisions confirms.

By the time Prompto is back at his Prince's side, Noctis is already close to drifting back into sleep. His eyes are half-lidded and his gaze looks glassy as he stares beyond the lake, watching Sahgin wade in the deeper reaches, lost in the serenity of the moment-- until Prompto practically shoves the bottle of water at him, eliciting another audible groan of disapproval.

“I can't.”

“What do you mean you can't?”

“I've fallen and I can't get up.”

Prompto can't help but smile at Noctis's retort, but he follows up his reply with a lengthy sigh of his own. Following Noct's sleepy gaze out towards the lake, he watches the massive beasts snap fish from the watery shallows, coming to a standstill until looking at them while they pander starts to give him an idea.

“Alright, we've got one option left, if you want to try.”

“Go for it.”

Admittedly, he didn't anticipate such a ready reply. Knowing just how much Noctis cares and trusts for him isn't something new, but it manages to make his heart beat a little faster with recognition every time. He feels proud. Proud to be his friend, and proud to be trusted, all the same.

Prompto unscrews the cap from the plastic, cracking it open with one hard twist. The sound it makes as it starts to crumple under his grip is loud when the surrounding area is so silent, an audible reminder of just what he's about to do, but it's too late to get cold feet now. This is for the safety and well-being of his dehydrated and close to starving friend, who watches him from where he lies down with little curiosity on his features, if any.

Noctis is about to ask him who the water was intended for when Prompto knocks back a long swig, stealing a drink for himself with a refreshed sounding “ahhh”. The more he looks at it, the more tempting it becomes, but his muscles feel strained and there's no moving him from his spot at this rate. It isn't until the second drink Prompto takes where his plan becomes more transparent, the Prince still watching him through a heavy lidded gaze and a face flushed with a still blooming temperature.

Prompto leans over, closing in what little distance still lies between himself and his best friend. Noctis is still confused until he can feel his warm lips grazing over his own, so tender and soft, it's hard to believe they're attached to a boy. He can feel the world still for what feels like an eternity until Prompto is parting his lips, dragging Noct's open with the pressure he applies to his makeshift kiss.

When Noctis feels his lips parting, he's not sure what to do with himself until cold water starts spilling into his mouth like a cresting wave. It's slow and methodical, careful and intended not to make him choke, not as clumsy as he pictured kissing the ever cheerful Prompto would be.

He has to remind himself that it isn't technically a kiss. Noctis's eyebrows furrow while he tries to focus on swallowing with his mouth still open, feeling the refreshingly cold liquid slide down his throat and pool in his empty stomach. It makes his tummy feel cold from the inside, but when he focuses, really focuses, he can feel how warm Prompto's mouth is against the contrast of water cascading past his lips.

It takes little effort to drink while Prompto pushes water into his open jaws. Less effort than he thought it would take, initially. Being replenished after going so long without feels better, too, like a cold cloth on the back of his neck when he was young. It occurs to him that his eyes are still open when he feels Prompto pull away, watching his face fluster with embarrassment and concern, as though he crossed a boundary Noctis didn't tell him he could cross.

“Was that okay?” The sound of eagerness in Prompto's voice isn't hard to discern, even when the blond's lips are pursing tightly with anxiety. 

Noctis appears far more nonchalant than Prompto does, his face still otherwise indifferent, despite their closeness taking a new level not yet crossed. It's not like he hasn't kissed girls before, and it wasn't that different, save for the fact that Prompto was merely hydrating him after sweating out a majority of his fluids the night prior. There's still something, something in his abdomen that isn't just cold water, something he's pushing to the back of his head in favour of being catered to like something precious.

“Yeah.” Noctis precedes. Prompto nods sagely, as though he new that would make him feel better the whole time, his apprehension fading gradually from his face.

What Prompto doesn't anticipate is Noctis following up with “Can you do it again?”.

Eager to please and even more eager to help his friend feel the slightest bit better, Prompto nods profusely when he's asked to keep going. His face is still flushed red with embarrassment against his better judgment, but from the way Noctis is looking at him, it doesn't seem to phase the Prince too much. He almost hopes that Noct can't see the look on his face, but he knows all too well that it's a false hope. Noctis is still looking at him with those lingering, gentle eyes, peering past his exterior and into the softness below.

The feeling of water slipping past his lips comes anticipated this time. Noctis is opening his jaws even before Prompto meets his lips again, ready to drink from his mouth without having to think of the implications. He swallows readily until there's nothing left, until Prompto has to draw back yet again to take another swig from the neck of his bottle, appreciative of the fact that he doesn't have to ask a third time.

When Prompto brings his lips back to the Prince and lets liquid trickle into his mouth, Noctis is a little too eager to drink it all for a third time. The slow pace the gunman moves at isn't satiating his thirst, even if he's lethargic and incapable of wolfing down whole portions of food. If he could bring the bottle to his lips himself and chug it all he would, but this will have to do for now.

His eagerness obviously takes Prompto off guard. It isn't long before Noctis is pushing his tongue into his mouth, lapping water off the roof of his mouth in long, tender strokes. It makes Prom sit still, taken off guard by the sudden licking into his mouth, unsure of what to do with himself as Noctis tries to clean up every last drop. He can feel his spit lave over Noct's tongue, being drawn past the Prince's lips, readily swallowed just as smoothly as he drank his water. It feels a little too good, heat settling in his cock before he can reign it back in.

At some point, Noctis knows he should stop. He can feel the indentations of the roof of Prom's mouth when he drags his tongue over it in long strokes, drawing more water into his empty gullet, quelling a thirst he realizes now is more prominent than he thought initially. Eventually, there's no more water left, but licking Prompto's saliva out of his mouth and into his own makes no difference. If anything, he prefers the taste over plastic, swallowing it all while indifferent to the change in viscosity. He tastes like food, but there's still something very Prompto. 

After a while, the Prince comes to a stop. Prompto still waits there dumbly for a moment while his faculties come back, but Noctis doesn't mention the hesitation, or the way he waits there with his lips still open and his face even redder than before. Instead, Noctis yawns, and Prompto is brought out of his stupor long enough to realize he should be doing something. Anything.

“Can you try some food now?”

It's not phrased like a request, but Noctis doesn't seem to mind it, though his eyes roll with indigence when he's inadvertently bossed around. He knows Prompto didn't try, but it's something he'd picture Gladiolus or Ignis saying if they caught him trying to eat cookies before dinner. That tone of voice is one he's used to from experience, but hearing it come from Prom is just uncharacteristic.

“I don't know, can you do that thing too.”

Prompto is about to ask what thing he's referring to, but stops short when he realizes Noctis meant feeding it to him from his own mouth like a mother chocobo to her fledglings. There's a moment of pause as he deliberates carefully, but once he meets Noctis's eyes yet again, he folds like fresh laundry.

“The things I do for love,” he sighs wistfully, reaching for the mostly untouched sandwich still waiting on his plate.

“Ha-ha, you looooove me.” Noctis replies mockingly.

“Shut up.” Prompto says bemusedly around the sandwich in his mouth, stray breadcrumbs falling to the tent floor.

“Look at you, you're getting crumbs everywhere. What will the maids think.”

“I'm sure this isn't the first time Ignis has vacuumed crumbs off your sleeping body, dude.”

It's the first time Prompto has seen Noctis smile in days, and it leaves his heart aching with something he can't quite place his finger on. He missed it, a lot more than he realized.

He doesn't have much time to enjoy it before Noctis is parting his lips, awaiting his food in a manner that seems demanding, despite the position he's in. Prompto should think this is gross-- in a small way, he kind of does-- but the fact that this is Noctis alleviates any repulsion he might've felt at the prospect. They're already so close, it feels kind of... right, in a weird, weird way.

Prompto leans in, taking the initiative this time. His tongue shifts a bite of partially chewed food from his mouth to his friend's, but as he pulls back, he can feel Noct start to move his appendage on the retreat. It's a strange sensation, feeling his tongue move without quite feeling it, but it makes his lower abdomen start to stir in a way that feels foreign.

It looks like it makes the ordeal of eating a lot easier on him. Instead of chewing for twenty minutes and swallowing like he's tasting dirty sock, Noctis moves his jaw a few times, easing it down his now eased windpipe with little difficulty. His attention is focused on Prompto as he watches him take small bites of his food, leaning in periodically to help him eat while he's incapacitated.

An errant breeze passes through the tent entrance. Though it makes Prompto feel warm and sticky, Noctis shivers with the newfound cold, trying meekly to pull his blanket back over his body. Prom can't help but watch as his trembling fingers try to shift the covers over, his face contorting into something like pity before he's shifting the covers over Noctis himself, tucking him in like a child about to have a nap.

“You must feel pretty special, being doted on like this.” Prompto tries to dissipate some of the silence that starts to feel like an itch, looking out towards the water before he takes yet another bite of his now half-eaten sandwich.

“I guess.”

“What? Not good enough for Lucian royalty?”

Noctis looks like he flinches, and Prompto is about to apologize for striking a nerve without realizing it, but his apologies are cut short when Noctis breaks the silence with his response.

“I was never handled... like this. Back there.”

Prompto's chewing slows while he muses what he means. If he meant being force-fed food from someone's mouth, that'd be reasonable. It's a pretty strange thing, all things considered. There's still something in his tone of voice that says Noctis doesn't quite mean that.

“You mean you were never spoiled when you got sick?”

“I mean. As far as spoiling goes.” Noctis's shoulders move like he's shrugging, but he pauses only for a second before he tries to continue his train of thought.

“I had plenty of soup. Housekeepers at my beck and call, but... my dad was an important man, with an entire kingdom to run. There was no time to offer any 'consoling'. He tried his best for me, but there was very little...” Noct gestures vaguely with a shaking hand before he gives up.

Prompto doesn't need him to finish the sentence. He can fill in the blanks himself. Suddenly, Noctis's avoidance to share his emotions starts to make more sense. From a young age, he learned how to rely on himself for emotional support, and in a way, Prompto knows exactly what that's like. 

Suddenly, the confined space starts to feel even more intimate, even without having Noctis lick water from his mouth like a parched man in the desert. The silence that follows up Noctis's retort is too heavy for Prompto's comfort, and he makes an attempt at stifling any residual discomfort by leaning in and shifting more food into his mouth.

It's Noctis's turn to be caught off guard. He doesn't anticipate having more until there are lips kissing over his own in a closed mouth peck, and he opens his mouth, taking food obediently and swallowing it down fast. Without using his hands, he wipes his mouth on the edge of the covers, mumbling “thanks” before his attention is drawn back to the water bottle. Noct is just thankful Prompto doesn't make him finish eating, instead having the blond read his mind and reach for the water one last time.

“Well, dude. I guess I could spoil you for as long as you wanted me to.”

Prompto tries to make sure there's no food left in his mouth to backwash. That'd be even grosser than what they've been doing already, even if Noctis appears un-phased by the intimacy, going out of his way to ask him for more.

Prom tries to appease him by leaning in and giving him more without having to ask, which Noctis accepts just as readily as before. This time is slightly different in the way that Prompto moves, shifting over his weakened body, using his hands and knees to keep himself elevated properly and not toppling face-first into the prince. Prompto allows water to fall from his mouth and back into Noct's, though this time, he's just slightly more adamant to part right away.

Which Noctis appears thankful for as he slips his tongue back into Prompto's warm, wet cavern, so hot and inviting it makes him forget about the cold outside. If he could crawl into his mouth and live there he would, protected forever by this sweet and noble member of his Crownsguard. Though he licks tenderly over the inside of his cheeks, he doesn't quite anticipate having Prompto respond in kind, feeling his tongue start to glide over his own just as slow and hesitant as feeding him.

Prompto's tongue feels warm and slick as he licks back, not quite focusing on exploring his mouth in the same way that Noctis explores his. While Noctis was busy scoping out the way his mouth shapes and divots, Prompto is more intentional, rubbing his tongue in a way that's not so curious as it is just trying to feel him. Before he can help himself, the sound Noctis makes is a low moan, reverberated from the back of his throat and muffled by Prompto's lips in the way.

Prom seems to sigh through his nose when he can feel the vibration travel over his lips. His head angles to the side just enough to fit more comfortably there, feeling him without his hands, just seconds before he presses his lips a little tighter and sucks on his tongue in gentle motions. 

It's something Noctis doesn't anticipate either, a sharp exhale seeping past his mouth in a heavy breath before he can stop himself. It doesn't seem like Prompto minds it all too much, but the feeling of having his tongue sucked on is new and makes his cock throb hard. In all his years loving the freedom of sleep, he's never been more thankful to be wrapped around a blanket more than now, suddenly very aware of the warmth Prompto radiates when he's on all fours on top of him.

Prompto pulls away with a wet sucking noise and what sounds like a short “sorry”. Noctis rakes his fingers through his light blond hair as best he can when he's dripping with lethargy, which earns a soft groan just before Noctis mutters “don't be” right back.

It's not a time to think. Prompto isn't putting any effort towards his racing thoughts, and Noctis is melting away, into the heat of a second body, and the warmth of a shifting breeze passing over.

Prompto doesn't leave. Instead, he topples over, taking up residency behind Noct's tired frame instead of on top of it. A thin yet muscled arm drapes leisurely over Noctis's waist from behind, dragging him in close, and it's not long before the prince drifts off into a peaceful field of Sylleblossoms and the smiling face of his father.

*

Killing Dead-Eye is harder than Gladiolus anticipated. For Ignis, the challenge is exactly what he needs to keep his mind off everything else, immersed totally in the heat of the battle as they rain fire like brimstone from the heavens. There are flammable canisters everywhere, much to Iggy's relief, which proves more than beneficial as they set alight to the behemoth's domain. Ignis would even go as far as saying they make a good team together-- and Gladiolus does a fine job of keeping the conversation light, talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

Gladiolus was also right when he suggested Wiz would let them have chocobo's to rent. The discount he offers is more than reasonable when his livelihood was on the line, grateful to have two “very skilled hunters” end a threat that would've ended his career. Four chocobo for a total of seven days amounts to almost five-hundred gil, a pretty hefty discount when considering their limited supply of birds.

It's something Ignis doesn't mind splurging on just this once. Gladiolus looks pleased with himself the entire time he converses with the chocobo keeper, greatly accepting the bounty from the kill, handing Ignis a small bag to feed the rental post with. While they talk about another quest involving a picture of a wild chocobo in the region, Gladio mentions a “friend” who happens to have a camera, signing them up for yet another departure early the next morning.

While they ride their chocobo through the thicket, past the yellowing sun starting to sink behind the horizon, Ignis is the one who mentions something about it, calling over to Gladiolus as they ride hastily in the hopes to avoid being out after daylight's end.

“Prompto's going to love you for that, you know.”

An emotion that Ignis can't recognize quickly passes over Gladiolus's face, but whatever it was, it's quickly replaced with a broad smile and a casually tossed look back at Ignis.

“Heh, yeah. Figured the kid could use a pick me up after we stuck him with Princess all day.”

“I trust you'll be taking him, then?”

The sound Gladiolus makes in reply is one of his standard grunts. Though a sound like that would normally pass under the radar, Ignis's eyebrows raise with a piqued sense of curiosity, the chocobo underneath him taking flight over a small boulder. The feeling of wind rushing through his hair is exhilarating and refreshing at the same time, cooling him down after a humid, lengthy day.

“I'll take that as a yes, seeing as my presence is required elsewhere.”

“Yeah, yeah. You have to wipe Noctis's snotty nose for him, I get it.”

Though the comment would normally go unheeded, it's not very often Ignis gets an opportunity to question his personal feelings on various matters. Ignis isn't a man to pose questions like that while in the presence of others, even if it's just Prompto and Noctis. There's an unspoken respect that comes about not pushing one's boundaries, but just this once, Ignis spares a quick glance back at the disgruntled looking man atop a fluffy looking chocobo.

“Does that bother you?” Ignis questions non-maliciously, sounding more like an interested schoolkid rather than a trusted advisor. 

“Well, yeah.” Gladiolus responds, sounding terse and keeping his eyes set straight ahead.

“Why is that?”

“I don't know.” Gladiolus doesn't sound convinced. After just a few seconds of travelling in silence, Gladiolus is heaving a sigh that Ignis can hear from where he's falling ahead, continuing where he left off without any prompting.

“We're supposed to be training him. You know. Preparing him to take on duties as the only heir to the Lucian throne, the direct descendent of King Regis himself, and you're babying him.”

“I don't see what taking care of him has to do with anything. If my memory serves correctly, the King had a chamberlain himself, at one point.”

“That's different. Regis-- King Regis-- knew how to take care of himself. He was prepared to take on what it means to wear a crown, and he did it damn well. He didn't have someone making sure his socks were matching and he finished his homework before 8pm.”

“You don't know that.”

Gladiolus shoots Ignis an unimpressed look, but even the tactician can see that he's suppressing some kind of amusement. Admittedly, even Ignis can't see the image of a young, fresh-into-adulthood Regis, complaining about having to eat vegetables or being reminded to brush his hair. It's hard to imagine him as anything except the gentle father he presented himself to be, always thinking of the greater good when it came to protecting his people. The people.

“I just think you coddle him a little too much. Let him get his hands dirty. You can't--”

A moment of silence passes.

“I can't what, Gladio?”

“You can't protect him forever.”

There's something else there, in the tone of voice he uses. It's a reasonable enough comment that makes something ugly twist in Ignis's gut, sitting there atop his stomach like a weight, dense on every syllable that falls from Gladiolus's mouth and into the quiet air around them. It hangs like the humidity, thick and heavy, unwanted and yet impossible to ignore.

Gladiolus is the one who starts this time.

“I didn't mean it like that.”

“But you did.”

Ignis straightens from where he realized he was leaned a little too forward. The mystic glow drifting towards the deep pink sky is visible in the distance at this point, and Ignis feels a wave of relief wash over him like a waterfall. He doesn't think he's spent this much time away from Noctis since... well, the last seven years. Just a few hours of daylight has passed since their departure, and yet it feels more like days, stretched thin by the poignancy of Gladio's words.

“Iggy, I'm sorry.”

Ignis knows he isn't sorry.

But that doesn't matter.

“It's alright, Gladio. You make a very viable point. A suggestion I'll certainly take into consideration.”

Ignis responds in the same curt, polite mannerism he takes with any number of people. In his head, he's already trying to detach his personal feelings away from the conversation. Gladiolus does make a point, and he's certainly not wrong, it's just not something he wants to hear right now. He makes a note to consider it when he has his mental faculties more arranged, when he's not currently fretting over his beloved, when he can think clearly and without bias as any advisor is wont to do.

Gladiolus doesn't seem to notice a change in Ignis's demeanour, exhaling a relieved sound as they draw closer to the campsite. The conversation drifts away from Prince Noctis, left behind in the trees they emerge from.

The campsite looks strangely untouched as they approach, and for a moment, Ignis gets a horrible feeling. Gladiolus seems otherwise unbothered in the change, or lack thereof, allowing his chocobo room to graze once he pulls off and meanders towards the campfire. The reason for the quietness becomes apparent as Ignis catches a glimpse inside the tent, his eyes roving over a tender display between the blond and his prince, Iggy's heart immediately set at ease once he realizes they're unharmed.

Prompto is laying sprawled out on his back like a starfish, snoring just loud enough that he doesn't disturb Noct's peaceful looking slumber. Noctis is turned towards him, his head resting on the gunman's chest, his arm resting over Prompto's waistline and his hand poised vulnerably over his chest.

It's a scene that reminds him of the night before.

It appears as though his worry wasn't lost on Gladiolus, who catches the look on his face before Ignis has time to dissolve it. Already, Gladio is going for the stick and stone, set to start the fire for a meal much needed.

“Aw, leave 'em sleep. Prompto will be a lot happier if he wakes up to dinner.” Gladiolus tries to reassure him, calling Ignis away from the tent with his voice set at a more quiet level.

“Is that your way of saying I should make dinner, Gladiolus?”

“Maaaaaaybe.”

“I'm most certain he'll be pleased waking up to chocobo's regardless. You both still haven't had your bath, and I'm afraid the stink will attract unwanted attention if you allow it to go for too long.”

Gladiolus snorts, twisting the stick expertly between his broad hands. Ignis never gets tired of watching errant sparks fly haphazardly into the charred remains of his pyjamas, igniting fast when the heat catches tattered bits of cloth and dried wood.

“After food.”

“One hour rule.”

“Are you saying I could drown in four feet of water. I mean, Prompto could, maybe.”

“Hmmm. Would you like a whistle to appoint yourself designated lifeguard?”

“Nah, whistles attract daemons. Maybe a flashing neon sign would be better.”

It's the first time Ignis doesn't feel wholly unnerved by every little thing, and Gladiolus can tell he's been fretting over something. It occurs to him that Noctis's safety could've been doing a number on his consciousness, but there's something deeper, something that goes beyond what he sees on his surface. He's starting to wonder if maybe Ignis's feelings for the little prince-- his need to care for him like a parental figure-- aren't as platonic as it may seem at first glance.

The banter continues as Ignis makes Prairie-Style Skewers. While he's grilling the meat, he instructs Gladiolus to wake up Prompto without disturbing the prince, who isn't very ceremonious about placing his hand on Prompto's shoulder and shaking him abruptly. Sure enough, it breaks him from sleep with a tired groan, the blond mumbling a slurred “five more minutes mom” before forcing himself to get up and do something productive.

Prompto has to pull himself out from underneath Noctis soundly, which he manages with just a little difficulty. The Prince doesn't stir from the dreams that run deep through his subconsciousness, but the furrowing of his brow and the pursing of his lips suggests he's not happy to lose out on heat and a body to lean on.

Gladiolus can taste a medley of flavors as he chows down like a ravenous beast, no time to savour it when he's been starving since that morning. There's a point where Ignis chastises him for eating like a beast, but the tactician soon gives up when it becomes apparent that Gladiolus would eat it off the ground rather than let any of it go to waste. A part of Specs feels good that his food could elicit that kind of response, but he did go out of his way to make one of Gladio's favourites, so it's only natural that receiving praise from the person he made food for would make him feel kind of special.

Prompto eats tired and quietly, still trying to force himself completely awake despite sitting in a fold-out chair with his ankles crossed in front of him. He's just happy he doesn't have to use any cutlery, chewing away while he stares out at the now quiet river with a vacant and yet pleased expression. Gladiolus might've woken him from a good sleep, but fawning over the chocobo's while they graze on Mimett Greens nearby seemed to put him in a relatively good mood regardless.

Gladiolus sucks sauce from his fingers noisily before suggesting they walk to the stream. Normally, being invited to even small things would make him feel good, but there's something in the way he asks that makes Prompto feel different. It's the same heat in his lower abdomen he had when Noctis was licking over the inside of his mouth, coiled up and ready to spring like snakes in a can. Gladio's eyes rest a little too long on his face, but he nods as though he doesn't notice, yawning and stretching his arms high above his head in a way that exposes his midriff. 

Prompto doesn't notice the way Gladiolus's eyes linger at his exposed middle either. What he does notice is the way he hangs behind for a few moments, clearly waiting for him to finish his goodnight's with Ignis, who looks well beyond tired and worn out. There's something on Iggy's face that makes him feel a little bad, empathetic to the way he looks so tired and beaten down.

“Did you have a good time?” Prompto asks earnestly after they've already begun the walk to the water, clearly eager to hear a story. At the very least, an explanation as to why Ignis looked like he'd just walked through hell and out the other side.

“I guess you could say that.” Gladiolus smiles as he pulls his shirt over his head.

The taller man stops, bringing his bunched up shirt to his face, inhaling just once before his expression contorts into repulsion.

“Iggy was right when he said we stink. We'll need a change of clothes.”

“I got it!” Prompto sounds a little too enthusiastic, and Gladiolus is quick to quiet him again, reminding him that their presence should be kept as low-key as possible.

By the time Prompto walks back to the campsite, retrieves some clean clothes, and walks back, Gladiolus is already in the middle of enjoying his late night swim. His head bobs as he floats around in the deeper reaches of the riverside, deep enough to make the blond a little nervous about swimming out there. It doesn't look like his feet could touch the bottom out there, but the thought of icky mud-dwelling bugs makes his toes curl.

Prompto leaves their clothes folded neatly on the soft grass, turning away from the shield with obvious timidity. It's certainly not the first time they've bathed together, no, but it is the first time they've bathed alone, and the first time Prom has pulled off his clothes last. He doesn't believe Gladiolus will watch him, but what he doesn't know is that Gladio has been watching him like a hawk all night.

The pale slope of his back looks almost radiant from where Gladiolus is wading. There's a noticeable difference between them, but it doesn't impede too much of his view, his gaze lingering a little long as Prompto's naked body comes into the purview of his vision. A light dusting of freckles scatters across his shoulders like stars in the sky, though Gladio's never paid too much attention to it before.

The longer he looks, the more he realizes that Prompto is beautiful. There's nothing unconventionally pretty about him. His shoulders ascent gracefully towards arms that look skinny at first glance, but hide muscle under the softness of his brachium, pale and blemish-less save for the freckles that graze his skin most exposed to the sun. The curve of his spine prepossessing, coming to an end just above his cute little ass, where Gladiolus rests his eyes for a moment or two before Prompto turns around.

Gladiolus sinks deeper into the water he treads in. His face feels hot all of a sudden, and he worries that he might've caught what Noctis has. There's no reason to be looking at Prompto like a voyeur, and yet, here he is. Even his cock is cute, by all accounts average, but silky looking in a way that makes him wonder what it might feel like to stroke it in his palm. For a moment, he wonders what he might say if he were to ask for a blowjob, but that train of thought is taken far off its rails when Prompto calls out to him.

“I'm not going all the way out there.” He tries to call as quietly as he can while still being heard, and Gladiolus watches where he wades into the water, his soft looking body now obscured under the crystalline surface of the pond.

“Wouldn't want you to drown anyway, shortstack.” Gladiolus tries to keep his reply as level as possible despite the fact that he's getting embarrassingly hard in a short amount of time.

“Hey! I'm totally a good swimmer, okay!”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

Gladiolus eats his words as he watches Prompto try to doggy paddle over. Once his feet no longer touch the bottom, it becomes apparent in the way he drifts that he's still struggling to stay afloat, persistent in the way he treads weakly through the water. Despite the energy he's using to swim closer, there's a look of cheerfulness present on his face, driven by spite and the need to impress his muscular friend.

He tries to drift away from his reach slowly, but every moment brings him closer and closer. Now that he can see his face under the reflection of the moon's rays, Gladiolus can see where the freckles start to blossom under his eyes. The nap must've done him some good, because there are no dark circles where the remnants of their fatigue usually lie. Even his lips look a little more pink, pulling up into a smile as he reels his arm back, sending a splash of water towards Gladiolus before he can process what he's doing.

Gladio sputters a laugh as water drenches his once dry hair, splashing back even harder. Prompto's voice is a cacophony of giggles at this point as he tries to swim away, and even that sound is a little more perfect than it usually is. Gladiolus is starting to wonder if there was something put in his food back at the outpost, swallowing hard before he can help himself.

He watches him retreat without following at first. Once he's out of range of his water based attacks, he continues to watch as Prompto leans back, arms outstretched and body going limp. The water keeps him afloat easily while his lower half remains submerged, his torso turned towards the night sky, eyes falling shut as he immerses himself in the feeling of warm water and good company. The stars are even more abundant than usual, littering the night sky like the freckles on his skin.

Prompto looks so peaceful there, drifting along, that Gladiolus practically has no choice but to sneak up on him quietly.

Gladiolus is a much stronger swimmer than Prompto is. Creeping up on him isn't the hard part. It's when he gets close enough to see the look of utter tranquility that passes over his features, nearly stopping himself from reaching out and saying something ridiculous.

It's been a very, very long time since Gladiolus has felt like a shy, lovelorn fool.

Whatever residual feelings are pushed to the side as his strong hands fall over Prompto's hips, heavy and warm over his taut frame, even despite the lukewarm temperature of the water they wade in. The suddenness of feeling someone touch him makes Prompto startle, drawing a sharp gasp from his lips as the blond rights himself into a more comfortable position.

“You scared me, big guy! Who knew a guy of your stature would be so silent.”

Feeling him nearly jerk out of his grasp makes him hesitate, prepared to draw his hands away again reflexively. It's the fact that Prompto is easing into the touch not long after that stops him from doing so, conveniently remembering a little too late that Prom is normally touchy-feely with his friends. This probably isn't too out of the ordinary, even if Gladiolus is feeling hot under the collar.

“Silent, but deadly.”

Prompto laughs. He notices the way Gladio's hands are dwelling on his frame, but he says nothing of it, wondering silently to himself if he's looking for a hug. He remembers Ignis telling him once that the body needs eight positive touches a day to keep from getting depressed, and why he remembered that little fact compared to the endless plethora of Ignis's knowledge, he has no idea.

It's easy to get him red and embarrassed, but with Gladiolus keeping his composure, he finds it hard to feel anything except safe while they drift along in the quiet. Prompto wonders what life would be like as a frog, until Gladiolus is pulling him close, drawing him up into his embrace, not unlike the way Ignis was holding Noct the day prior.

It's then that he's getting a little red, but he says nothing about it. He knows Gladiolus can see the way his face looks at this proximity, but if he were being honest with himself, floating around with Gladiolus feels strangely good. Possessive, but good.

“I see the appeal now.” Prompto nods to himself. “This is nice.”

“I figured a softie like you would enjoy something like this.”

“You thought right! I'm definitely not a softie, though.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

Prompto pushes at Gladiolus's shoulder, but he holds fast. The most he gets is a laugh in response to his weak pushing, drawn even tighter against his chest, so close he can almost feel his heart beating steady just underneath his rib cage. There's something about the way his torso feels when he's pressed up against it that he could get used to, drawing him in closer, letting him relax completely into his arms while the conversation falls short.

Gladiolus, however, starts to come to terms with the fact that he might just have a little bit of a crush on Prompto Argentum.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took a little longer than i thought it was going to but thanks for hanging in there. sry about all these filler chapters i swear they'll prbably become relevant maybe possibly

It continues to downpour over the next two days, much to Gladio's chagrin. He was looking forward to taking Prompto on an excursion through the now late Dead-Eye's domain-- to help Wiz, he convinces himself-- and Ignis reprimands him for attempting to venture out into the cold and wet while Noctis is already sick. Though he normally wouldn't try stopping them, they can't afford another day of rest, and Noctis is starting to look good enough to venture back to Lestallum for provisions.

He has no choice but to leave it for a later date. The camping supplies are loaded into the trunk of the Regalia, the Prince is tucked away safely in the backseat, and the drive to Lestallum begins with a solemn song playing on the radio. Daylight is a precious commodity that Ignis doesn't intend to waste, determined to get back to the hotel as soon as possible.

The drive is almost uncomfortably silent. Rain patters steadily on the windshield, and an omen hangs heavy in the air like the deep grey clouds blanketing the Cleigne region. Ignis is pointedly ignoring whatever tension is building in the confined car space, while Noctis falls asleep, his head on Gladio's shoulder when the car lolls to the left.

Talcott is the one who greets them first, eager to welcome his heroes back from their journey. His arm is thrown into a big, welcome wave, and Jared soon joins him with both hands poised on his cane.

“I started getting worried for you boys.” Jared muses aloud.

Iris makes her entrance, bounding down the stairs in her excitement to greet her brother. As she strides up to the small gathering of people in the lobby, Noctis is almost brought to his knees, his head searing with the pain of a headache while visions screen through his mind in quick bursts.

There are eyes staring back at him, amber and deep, peering into his mind and out the other side. The face of Titan appears before him, replying with a wordless sound that sends sharp pain surging across his forehead. Noctis stumbles forward as the vision comes to an end just as soon as it had begun, hissing under the duress, his fingers reaching reflexively towards the heavy throbbing in his frontal lobe.

“Not again...” His voice sounds far away to his own ears, the voices of his friends now a distant hum.

“What's the matter? Are you okay?” Iris asks inquisitively, trying to catch a glimpse of the pained expression on Noct's face.

“He'll be fine, don't worry.” Gladiolus reassures her with ease, His hand feels warm and stabilizing as he rests his palm on Noctis's shoulder. “We oughta take a closer look at this so called disc.”

“Then look no further than the outlook. We can use the viewer things!” Prompto is quick to respond, excitement brewing in his voice.

Noctis feels strangely reassured when they direct their attention elsewhere, pointedly ignoring the pain he's enduring. It starts to ebb, and yet lingers still, dwelling on the edge of his mind like a perpetual haze.

Another hand rests on his back for support as Gladiolus pulls away. Ignis starts guiding him from the entryway and into a more thinning crowd of people, purposefully trying to give him space and air to breathe at the same time. The crowd is starting to disperse for the evening, each person retreating back to the safety and comfort of their own homes.

The walls of Lestallum have never felt more claustrophobic than they do now. Something in the atmosphere makes Prompto's gut unsettle. It's the same feeling he had back at the campsite, like an eerie presence in the dark. He spares a glance behind himself, noticing nothing out of the ordinary as they walk out of the main square and into the street.

It isn't until the stranger they met at the Quay turns around that Prompto realizes why he felt at such unease.

“What a coincidence.” His voice sounds pleased. Something dwells just beneath the friendliness that Prompto picks up like a bloodhound, betraying the illusion of fondness and tainting his words with something akin to condescension.

“I'm not so sure it is.” Gladiolus replies without thinking. Prompto looks up at his muscled friend to see his mouth pulled into a taut line, but it makes him feel better to know he isn't the only one to feel something off about this lavishly-dressed stranger.

Ardyn's features never dwindle as he draws closer, bringing with him a feeling that sets Ignis at unease. Prompto shudders before he can help himself, and it's the action that draws his gaze upon the blond boy, a false smile still lingering on his mouth like a mask.

“Aren't nursery rhymes curious things?”

The stranger stops as if he's waiting for a reply, coming to a standstill directly in front of the crowned prince. Ignis looks expectant, but Prompto shifts with discomfort in one place. The blond leans forward, eagerly waiting for him to continue his train of thought, but Ardyn's unwavering gaze on his face makes him feel disquieted.

“Like this one: 'From the deep, the Archaean crawls, yet on deaf ears, the gods' tongue falls. The king made to kneel, in pain, he crawls.'”

“So, how do we keep him on his feet.” Prompto asks, eyes alight with curiosity. Gladiolus shoots him a look, but he spoke before he could help himself. 

Ardyn turns towards him. His expression shifts from something kind to something indecipherable in a matter of seconds, eyebrows drawing close as though the question he asked was a stupid one. Prompto suddenly feels small under his penetrating stare, yet not willing to shrink inside of himself, looking back into Ardyn's eyes unflinchingly. The stranger turns after a moment of peace, leaving the Crownsguard in his wake.

“You need only heed the call. Visit the Archaean and hear his plea.” He turns on his heel, staring the prince down. “I can take you.”

“We in?” Gladiolus questions.

“I don't know.” Noctis is unsure, looking towards Ignis as though he were waiting for his input first.

“We can take a ride...” Prompto starts. His thought is quickly followed by Gladiolus, who crosses his arms tightly over his bare chest.

“... But watch our backs.”

“Right!” Prompto shifts his arm over, nudging Gladiolus playfully as he finishes his sentence. The gesture may be nonchalant, but the look the taller man wears when he glances back down at Prompto has adoration written all over it.

“Fair enough.” Ignis finally agrees. Noctis, following suit with his opinion, squares his shoulders confidently.

“Let's do it.”

From somewhere behind them, Ardyn looks pleased. The look he wears softens into genuine fondness while they turn to look him over, his eyes closing as though he were lost in the daydreams of time gone by. It's tempting to remind them that he can hear them deliberating among one another, but ultimately, the decision they choose is the correct one. They're allowing him into their closest ranks, permitting him their company for an evening, none the wiser of the wolf in sheep's clothing they've invited to graze among the herd.

When they aren't looking, his kind face fades as he dwells deeper into his sinister intentions, eyes aflame with potential.

“I'm not one to stand on ceremony, but such an occasion calls for an introduction. Please, call me 'Ardyn'.”

As the tall man walks, gesturing them towards his 'automobile', Prompto follows close behind. He has to take two steps for every long stride Ardyn takes forward. Like an excited puppy following his master, Ardyn thinks quietly to himself, focusing his gaze forward and not on the stray nipping at his heels. There's nothing on Prompto's face that appears suspicious anymore-- even his shoulders, once drawn up with hesitance, now lie in a more relaxed position-- and for a moment, Ardyn thinks he might have favour for this chipper blond. He trusts too easily. It's a trait he's come to admire after so many centuries toiling on the mortal plane.

Noctis, Ignis, and Gladiolus fall behind. Gladiolus has his eyes set so heavily on the man's back, Ardyn can feel him trying to bore holes through his jacket without ever having to see his face. As the strange man starts to speak, his hand falls on Prompto's back momentarily.

“Pales next to your Regalia,” he sounds almost jealous. “but she's never let me down.”

“So, we take two vehicles. A convoy of sorts. Shall we?”

Ardyn's car is a luxurious looking convertible. It's nicer than Noctis anticipated after he referred to the car as an “automobile”, expecting something more like a beat-up clunker instead of a painted purple classic. Even Ignis seems to take notice of the make and model, eyeglasses falling down his nose as he inspects the car's finer details. It's doesn't have any indicators hinting to Cindy, but it's certainly a car that belongs to someone who has gil to spend. Prompto races ahead to get a closer look at what he refers to as a 'beauty', crouching to get a closer look at the decals.

Ardyn comes to a stop at the passenger's side door, hands settled on his waist as he looks inquisitively towards the sky. He makes a sound as though he's thinking to himself, and Noctis comes to a stop in front of him, looking up at him with nothing that betrays intimidation on his expression.

“Let me do you the honour of choosing your driver. I choose... you.”

“What if I rode with you,” Noctis asks, closed hands resting on his own waist. The question makes Ignis's heart skip a beat.

Ardyn laughs, obviously amused with his exuberant confidence. He leans forward, a smile creeping wider across his face.

“You might find the cab fare to be a little more than you bargained for.”

There's something in the undertone of his voice that makes Prompto freeze where he is, his fingertips touching idly over the fine print that spelled Constellation. He stands after a moment, trying to feign innocence after touching his car, playing his words over in his head like a mantra while he tries to discern what he meant.

“You drive your car, and I drive mine. With that decided, let us be off.”

Ignis has his arms folded just as tightly as Gladiolus's while they walk back to the Regalia. The sun is starting to paint the sky a vibrant yellow shade, casting a haze that makes Iggy nervous, unwilling to traverse over roads inhabited by demons. Not to mention the fact that Noctis was incapacitated for days and is in no place to be driving, though he wouldn't be stupid enough to mention the prince's vulnerability around such a displeasing entity. No amount of kind gesture could wipe away the atmosphere he creates, or the way he looks a little too long at Prompto making him nervous.

While they drive towards the Disc of Cauthess, Ardyn is still the focal point of conversation. Gladiolus is eager to ask what his highness thinks of him, who responds with calling him “nothing more than a creepy old dude”. Prompto is holding back laughter as he tells Noctis that he hit the nail on the head with that observation, but just as Gladiolus is suggesting finding a rest stop for the night, Ardyn pulls over at an outpost and steps out of his car.

Ignis continues to tease Noctis when Gladio mentions no check out times when they sleep in the outdoors, but Prompto still has his head turned out the window, watching Ardyn watch them pull into Caernix station right behind him.

“What say we continue on to the Disc of Cauthess?” Gladiolus tries to suggest at first, despite the sinking sun starting its descent behind the rolling green mountains in the distance.

“The Archaean isn't going anywhere.” Ardyn almost sounds offended.

“Looks like we'll have to room with Ardyn tonight.” Ignis states it like a fact, but Noctis is responding hastily, obvious disgruntlement layering his voice.

“Room with Ardyn? No way in hell.”

“I'll set up the tent.” Gladiolus sounds ready, but Ardyn is quick to shoot down the suggestion.

“I'm afraid the ground is a bit... bad for my back. I'll foot the bill, go on. We'll have to room in that caravan over there.”

Ardyn gestures towards the stationary camper with a brief movement of his head, coaxing them towards the confined space silently. Noctis hesitates, but the conversation has been dropped by everyone else, in agreement that the caravan is where they'll stay tonight. Of course, for Ardyn, this is just an excuse to get them in an enclosed space with one another, wanting to see and hear them interact up close and not just watching from afar.

The caravan is quiet. There's little they can talk about in front of this stranger without feeling like their information is being catalogued away for later. Games of King's Knight just aren't as fun when you have eyes watching your every move, an unsettling presence lurking on the lowest bunk.

Noctis is, of course, the first to fall asleep. He takes the lowest bed, closest to the ground, the furthest away from the bed Ardyn decides upon. On the bright side, whatever sickness he had beforehand sends him to sleep fast, worn out from the overexertion of driving all the way to Caernix from Lestallum. Ignis is the next to go, choosing instead to sleep on the floor closest to him, just in case. He doesn't notice the smile Ardyn dons when the boy wearing spectacles falls asleep, followed quickly by a tired Prompto and a still-suspicious Gladiolus.

The night is long and full of nightmares. Prompto dreams of cold, steel floors surrounding him on all sides like a metal labyrinth. He dreams of hallways closing in on him and an endless black sea, pouring out of the floor like a deluge and swallowing him whole.

The sound of his camera flickering to life is what stirs him from his slumber, echoing within the caravan's walls with a tell-tale ding.

Prompto sits up straight without opening his eyes. It takes him a moment to gather his bearings and process the situation around him, pulling himself out of a sleep that makes him feel groggy all over. As he gazes about the room, his pupils adjusting to the cloak of darkness surrounding the caravan, Ardyn is sitting in the same position he was in hours before. His camera illuminates his handsome face like a spotlight, casting an eerie and pale glow over a barely concealed smirk.

“I apologize. Did I wake you?” Ardyn looks up from the camera screen, gazing effortlessly across the caravan and into Prompto's eyes. “Or was it the nightmares?”

“How'd you know that?” Prompto sounds nervous despite himself, his voice threatening to break.

“You toss in your sleep.” Ardyn smiles, but from where Prompto feels, it doesn't feel very polite.

When the blond focuses more more intently on the object that Ardyn holds in his hands, suddenly his photographs start to feel private. Like something this man wasn't supposed to see, even if it's a feeling he can't justify. After all, what good are photographs if people can't see them, right?

“Right.” Ardyn replies, and for a moment, Prompto wonders if he can see into his head. It's then that he realizes he's been silent for quite some time, staring soundlessly as he watches Ardyn's hands hold his camera.

“You're a very talented photographer. Prompto, was it? There's an old proverb that says people take pictures of what they're most afraid to lose.”

Prompto can feel his face burn with embarrassment when his compliment reaches his ears. It feels like he's praising something personal, a heat rising up through his stomach, making his chest feel warm when he feels like he has Ardyn's approval. The long-haired man continues flicking through his inventory, pausing to examine pictures that Prompto can't see from where he's sitting. His compliment may have made him feel good, but there's still a twist of shame buried deep in his abdomen, not wanting Ardyn to know what he's afraid of losing-- or how his compliment affected him, deep inside.

Ardyn shifts over on the bedspread when it becomes apparent that Prompto isn't going to sleep. His hand extends to the spot beside him, patting it in an overtly friendly manner, but the way his hand lingers and rubs the fabric makes Prompto feel weird. There's no reason why he should-- like Noctis said, he's just some creepy old dude-- so when he gathers his bravery back into his heart, he moves to take a seat beside him, walking forward like a mouse in the lion's den.

The mysterious stranger is once again delighted when the boy obeys. The fact that Prompto is cautious and yet willing to satiate his curiosity regardless is almost compelling, like watching a pet do tricks, and still much more appealing. The innocent surface he portrays is so sweet, Ardyn can practically feel him dripping on his tongue like sugar, and yet the dark underside that lingers ever so close to the surface is the one on his wrist. He noticed the woven bracelet that adorned his hand the very moment he laid eyes on him, and the secret Prompto tries so hard to keep is just waiting to be exposed, like a juicy secret they share together.

The bed sinks under Prompto's weight, but not by much. Ardyn leans toward him as though he were leaning in for a kiss, until he's moving the camera closer, bracing himself with his hand on the bedsheets directly behind Prompto's figure. The blond is starting to feel nervous, and Ardyn can tell, quickly taking his mind off the proximity by starting an unrelated conversation.

“I find myself drawn to aesthetics just as any man does.” He speaks low, lower now that he no longer has to talk across the caravan. “Though I much prefer people rather than places. Temporary things, people.”

Ardyn uses a single digit to go from picture to picture, pointing out his personal favourites. They're always the shots taken in the middle of the action, blades slicing through beast and daemon alike, his friends faces stuck forever in perfect concentration amidst the heat of the moment. As he points out every angle and pose he appreciates from Prompto's collection, the blond can feel his face getting redder and redder, pleased when he's lavished in attention and simultaneously hoping Ardyn doesn't notice.

Every embarrassed glance that Prompto casts is intoxicating. The attention that Ardyn receives in return for his flattery and sweet nothings is enough to satiate, for now, but there's a desire brewing deep under the surface of his false friendliness. It won't be long before he needs more to scratch the itch that Prompto is spurning. He has a courage and an innocence that Ardyn would love to see in its most primal form, corrupted and broken down to bare nakedness in front of the eyes of immortality itself.

Ardyn stares a little too long at all of Prompto's selfies. The blond picks up on it a little too well, shifting with discomfort when his thumb stops over the “next” button. Once or twice he tries to see what Ardyn might be feeling, but there's nothing on his face that alludes to what it might be.

Prompto yawns at the same time Ardyn extends his hand forward, resting it heavy and imposing over a soft thigh. It's a reminder of his presence, just enough to push his boundaries, but not enough to break it. His hand is gone just as soon as he reached out to touch him, feel him, and he feels confident it'll go unmentioned to his sleeping friends on the other side of the tent.

“Why don't you return to bed now?” He says it like a suggestion, but it's more of a demand. A demand he's testing him with, just to see how far Prompto would go to appease him

Prompto scuttles back into bed without any more coaxing necessary. The hand on his thigh made him jump, but aside from being a little thrown off, he doesn't appear concerned with Ardyn's presence.

“Yeah, I'm pretty tired. Thanks, though.”

Ardyn's response is nothing more than a tight lipped smile, but something rotten in his core begins to fester.

*

It's the tall stranger who wakes up first, long before Noctis dares to crawl out of bed. He meets them inside the store, looking as though he wasn't very pleased to be kept waiting, his hands poised on his waist and his feet crossed in an attempt to appear casual. By all accounts, Ardyn was not a casual man, right down to his grandiose appearance sticking out like a sore thumb and making people stare.

“I should warn you, we're about to pass the point of no return.” Ardyn warns vaguely, alluding to more than just the Archaean's visitation. “I trust you're not having any second thoughts?”

Noctis exhales sharply, like the very idea of turning back now is a joke. This Ardyn guy seems to be one step ahead of them, and yet he doesn't realize that at this point, turning back became a pipe dream a long time ago. Noctis wears a crown thrust upon him by fate-- not choice.

Ignis sorts out the last of their inventory, rearranging the elixirs and potions into neatly organized piles before loading everyone into the Regalia. Ardyn was wholly uninterested in their shopping, already waiting in the driver's seat whilst pulled out into the middle of the road. For someone who tries to appear impatient, Ardyn seems determined to help them, which makes Ignis all the more nervous. Everything about him screams “this is a trap”, even if he's been nothing but generous with his time thus far.

“Whoever thought of tapping into the meteor's power was a genius.” Gladiolus states once they pull off, starting the Regalia at a slow crawl before speeding up abruptly to catch Ardyn's vehicle.

“Can you even go near that thing?” Prompto asks inquisitively. He tries to maintain focus on the figure driving the car ahead of them, but they fall so far behind, Ardyn becomes a blurred image sitting in the driver's seat.

“They harvest fragments from nearby,” Ignis replies, ready to share his knowledge. “pieces that broke off when the meteor fell. Almost fell, I should say. For the Archaean caught it.”

“And he's still there. Holding the thing up.” Gladiolus sounds reverent.

“His unceasing toil forms the tenets of worship for the people of Duscae.”

The talk about the meteor continues until Ardyn pulls a sharp turn, veering ahead until his car is almost out of sight.

“So you know, it's hot where we're going. Will the camera fare alright?” Ignis asks Prompto, concerned about his extremely expensive toy. The fact that Ignis is concerned at all makes Prompto's heart swell, responding with a happier tone to his voice.

“As long as I avoid open flames it should be okay. I think.”

“We don't have a spare if it breaks.” Gladiolus reminds him diligently, cautioning him from taking it.

“Leave it in the car?” Noctis suggests.

“Oh, no, I'm taking it.” Prompto sounds sure of his decision. “Not every day we get up close and personal with the Archaean. I'd kick myself if I missed the photo op.”

His response is cavalier enough, but Prompto thinks back to when Ardyn was flicking through his photographs, remembering the ones he said he liked the most. It makes his face feel hot, but guilt surges through him like a freight train for wanting to appease the creepy stranger to any degree. Gladiolus doesn't seem to notice, teasing him from the backseat.

“Spoken like a true photographer.” He leans over the shoulder of the car seat, and Prompto looks back at him with a shy grin.

“As they say,” Prompto is a little proud of himself. “Better to try and fail than to have never tried at all.”

“Look at you.” Noctis teases back, flashing his own smile towards the blond sitting in his passenger's seat.

“Well, they say that. Not me.” Prompto feels bashful under the attention of both men, but it occurs to him Ignis has been silent for almost the entire car ride, save for some knowledge on the Archaean's history. “Hey, Iggy. Can your glasses take the heat?” He asks as he turns in his seat, trying to show him the same concern that the chef showed his camera.

“Well, I don't see why they shouldn't.” Ignis hadn't considered the prospect until Prompto brought it up.

“Even if they couldn't, he'd still be alright.” Noctis sounds even more sure of himself than Prompto does, nodding to himself as though reaffirming what he says as unbiased truth.

“Yeah, Iggy's eyes ain't that bad.” Gladiolus reassures. He can't help but have his gaze fall on Prompto through the side-view mirror.

“Oh. Really?”

“My vision is passable without corrective lenses.” Ignis grunts, sounding embarrassed after being put on the spot.

“Then why not take 'em off sometimes?”

“Well...”

“You don't get it, huh?” Noctis responds for him, asking Prompto his question earnestly, though amusement laces his words.

“Ignis likes his world to be crystal clear.” Gladiolus sounds knowing in a way that makes Ignis's heart plunge, but at the tactician turns towards the shield, Gladio is still examining Prompto carefully through the mirror attached to the car.

“Indeed. I've never been one for ambiguity.”

“Ah, I think I'm getting the picture now.” A moment of silence passes as Prompto draws his own conclusions, but his attention is still focused on the strangely quiet man sitting in the backseat. “Hey, Ignis. How's it feel being away from the wheel.”

“Positively frightening.”

“What're you sayin'?” Noctis snaps back quickly, a playful edge to his voice. Prompto is just happy the awkward silence is dwindling, even if they're still playing tag with the car speeding ahead of them and towards the meteorite.

“That I'm no stranger to His Highness's driving habits.” Ignis states back factually, his fingers pushing up his spectacles.

“'Preciate the confidence.” Noctis quips back sarcastically.

“Read a book, It'll take your mind off it.” Gladiolus's smile is audible in his voice. Prompto can't help but steal a quick glance towards the backseat through his mirror, only to find Gladiolus looking back at him, tossing him a quick wink that makes Prom swallow hard.

“I'd rather keep my eyes on the road, thank you.” Ignis chides back, grin still playing at his features. “Nonetheless, I wouldn't have time. We're here.”

“This better not be a setup.” Noctis drives the car over the pavement and onto the rocky ground, coming to a stop at the large metal archway impeding their progress.

Ignis feels reassured knowing that Noctis is just as wary as the rest of them. Before he has the chance to comment on his worries, Ardyn is drawing their attention away and towards himself, calling over at them from the door to his convertible with just a tinge of disappointment woven into his voice. Really, he hoped the prince would be much smarter than that.

“Have I ever given you any reason to doubt me?” He reminds casually, turning his gaze on the fluffy-haired photographer as Prompto responds without missing a beat.

“You don't really inspire confidence.”

The corners of Ardyn's mouth turn up into an even broader smile at the boy's blatancy. His eyes still linger on the blond boy's face as Gladiolus continues to speak, watching him like a hawk circling a meal.

“Yeah, not very straightforward.”

Ardyn pretends not to hear him as he calls a little louder, bellowing over the door in the politest voice he can muster at that decibel.

“Hello! It's me! Be so kind as to open up!”

The doors whir to life with the sound of heavy machinery moving underground. They make a consistent, high-pitched beeping noise, opening up to a steep dirt road through even rockier terrain. Noctis pulled the Regalia into another crawl, eyes peeled for Imperial's.

“Wow, that worked?” Prompto sounds surprised despite himself. It's then that he realizes he hasn't made eye-contact with Ardyn in quite some time, but as he turns his head back to look at him, he's not sure if he's surprised to find him still staring over the blond intently. 

“I may not look like much, but I do have some influence.” Ardyn feigns innocence. The tired old man routine isn't a very exciting one, but the shudder that crawls up Prompto's spine when his gaze lingers a little too long is delicious. “Aren't you glad we came together?”He continues, still trying to prove himself as a man they could trust. There's still something in the way he phrases it that makes it clear he's talking to Prompto directly, even if it's only obvious to the photographer and not so much his friends.

“Your audience with divinity lies ahead.” Ardyn ushers them forward. Gladiolus's stare is getting a little too heavy for his tastes, as though he were trying too intently to see what lurks beneath his surface.

“You're leaving?” Prompto doesn't sound sound excited. In fact, if Ardyn were to place any emotion on the way Prom speaks, he might dare say the little blond boy sounds a tad disappointed.

“I drop you at the Archaean's open door, and with that, bid you farewell.” He gestures flamboyantly towards the open doors, growing increasingly bored with small-talk.

Ardyn continues to watch them as they pass through the archway. Prompto can feel eyes on the back of his neck long after they begin travelling through winding roads, the car shifting from side to side relentlessly as it passes over loose rock. Formations left by the meteor tower above them on all sides, and it makes Prompto feel kind of boxed in, despite the wide open space on all sides.

Gladiolus is the first to distract from the unsettling atmosphere they inadvertently created. Hearing him break the silence almost makes Prompto jump, but as the shield continues to speak, the chocobo lover can feel himself growing less and less tense.

“I've met some weirdos...” He begins, leaning forward in his seat, trying to capture some of Prompto's attention.

“I hope we never meet that one again.” Ignis responds disdainfully.

“Whoa! Little harsh there, don't you think?” Prompto sounds genuinely disillusioned with the creepiness that Ardyn propagates. Gladiolus bites into his own cheek.

The silence that follows is unsatisfying. It makes Prompto regret opening up his mouth, shame creeping up like the guilt that starts to manifest under the weight of Ardyn's gaze. Desperate to keep the conversation going, Prompto turns to look out the window, watching the walls of the tunnel they drive through blur with their increasing speed.

“Guy really knew his stuff about nursery rhymes.” He continues, sounding more as though he were musing aloud to himself rather than talk to anyone in particular.

“Yeah, nothing creepy about that.” Noctis replies in a way that makes Prompto feel embarrassed for even bringing it up in the first place.

The rest of the ride is spent in stifling silence, but Prompto feels better when he's not left hanging. From above the mountainous ridges of stone, the sun lingers high in the sky, causing shadows to start crawling up the sides of the crevasse. As Noctis pulls up to what looks like the ruins of a temple, Prompto can feel the heat already, the air around him raising in temperature by just a few degrees.

Noctis picks up a Hi-Elixir that someone must've dropped at the entrance. It makes Ignis wary, knowing troopers must still be patrolling the area, and feeling as though Ardyn can't be trusted. Prompto's attempt at convincing him otherwise doesn't do much to sway his opinion, even if he does have a point when he mentions just how unnecessarily cruel they've been to the man.

Ignis is still fascinated with the crumbling architecture, mumbling something about the ruins as they come upon a path shrouded in gnarled branches and carved marble. It's not the kind of thing Noctis thought his chamberlain would admire aesthetically, but it's something that makes him smile to himself as they meander through the pathway.

Ignis points out what looks like a casket, surprise evident in his voice. Noctis, eager to continue on their journey already, sounds unimpressed as he says “let's grab it and go”.

Just as he allows the weapon to integrate itself into his Armiger, the ground below starts to rumble.

The boys are thrown to the ground as the earth beneath them moves. The structure Noctis stands on begins to crumble, heavy stones cascading down the mountainside and into the depths below. Ignis falls forward on both hands, scrambling to get up, his voice laid heavy with worry and desperation as he has no choice but to back away from the toppling infrastructure.

“Get away! Quickly!” 

A rock narrowly misses Gladiolus as it tumbles to the ground, separating from the rocky wall and splintering into pieces. Prompto, after falling on his ass, tries to scramble away from the toppling ruin threatening to devour them all. His hand reaches out for Ignis's arm, holding steadfast as he tries to keep him from rushing forward to Noct's aid.

Noctis falls to his knees as pain shatters through his mind. The voices that belong to his friends sound distant while a headache tears through him, leaving him with nothing but searing, white hot pain. It spreads through his every thought like an uncontrollable flame. His fingers brace against the ground while it moves under his feet, but as instinct starts to override agony, the ground is already giving way.

The prince tries to push himself in the opposite direction, but every step crumbles away underneath his feet. As he tries to throw his weight off the broken floor and propel himself forward, he's just a moment too late, his fingers losing their grip on marble floor he reaches out towards.

Noctis turns quickly when he feels himself falling, trying to get a glimpse of the ground coming up fast. He tries to stop himself, but his arm scrapes against the rocky wall, cutting through his skin and embedding his wounds with dirt. The sound he makes is a sharp gasp of pain, but he thinks quickly, turning to face his back towards the wall instead as he tries in vain to slow himself down. His shirt protects most of his skin from the jagged wall, but he lands on the ground too hard, losing his footing and sliding off the edge.

Just as he's watching the edge start to fall away from his vision, a strong hand reaches out to grip his wrist hard, stopping him from falling to his death by just a few inches.

“Noct!” Gladiolus tightens his grip around his hand like a vice, pulling hard. “I gotcha!”

Noctis closes his own grip around Gladiolus's hand. His other grips at the rocky ledge, trying to push his weight forward and back onto solid ground. His knee digs into the surface for some kind of leverage as Gladiolus tries to coax him back up, pulling hard at the prince's body as he drags him back to safety. Noctis begins to crawl back onto solid ground, and Gladiolus tightens his grip in his shirt, pulling him up the rest of the way like he weighs nothing more than a cat.

Noct falls limp to the ground, breathing heavy with the strain. Gladiolus, still on his knees, catches his breath after sliding down a fifty foot ravine in a nervous panic. The sound of crumbling architecture once again causes Noctis to turn around, his injured arm shielding his eyes from a cloud of dirt that wafts into his face from the meteor's edge.

“What the hell?” He mutters, breathless as his heart rate continues to pound hard in his chest.

The meteor begins to move.

The face of the Archaean becomes visible as he rears his ugly head up from the ground, eyes glowing a deep russet as he peers at the newcomers in his domain. Titan's mouth is turned into a deep scowl. The dirt around him begins to settle as it stops moving, but as it speaks to the tiny invaders standing before him, Noctis can't understand anything it says.

“God damn. That's the Archaean?” Noctis sounds nervous, and... excited.

“Seems we woke the big guy up.”

“He's trying to tell me something... but what?” Pain surges through the prince's head like a blink, his headache trying to renew its presence in his brain.

“Noct! Are you okay?” Prompto calls from somewhere behind them.

“Thank heavens you're safe.” Ignis sounds relieved. “Is there a way back up?”

“No, but there's a path. We'll see where it leads.” Noctis waves back with his uninjured arm, trying to dissuade them from worry.

“You two try to get down.” Gladiolus suggests.

Ignis agrees while Prompto starts to fret. Noctis doesn't need to see his face to know that the Archaean scares him, and getting closer isn't on his list of favourite things this evening. Maybe Noctis would feel scared too, if his patience hadn't already worn thin with the frequency of his splitting headaches. If he could just get closer, maybe Noctis could find out what he-- it-- wants.

The journey has just begun, and already, Noctis feels hopelessly lost.

*

It doesn't take a detective or Gladiolus's finely-tuned people skills to know that something is bothering Ignis. Prompto can tell just from the way he appears, shoulders squared and back knotted tight while the tactician worries about Noctis. The blond isn't good at reassuring like Ignis is, but that doesn't stop him from trying, walking closely behind the taller man's form as he tries to find another pathway down the mountain.

“Ah, they'll be fine.” Prompto states to the open air. The image of the Archaean raising its head from the depths comes to mind, and despite himself, he follows just a bit closer as Ignis leads the way towards their companions. “I mean. Gladdy's got him. He'll totally be safe.”

Ignis makes a grunting noise, though it's obvious to both of them that he remains unconvinced. At the same time, Ignis silently reprimands himself for thinking otherwise. There's no reason why he wouldn't be in perfectly fine hands. Gladiolus has been training for this for years.

“I-- I mean. What do you think, Ignis?” Prompto backtracks when he doesn't get the response he desired, chuckling nervously as Iggy starts to manoeuvre their way through a steep, enclosed ravine.

“I think we must make haste if you wish to meet with our friends before something else does.” Ignis doesn't sound nervous, but it's his response that makes Prompto start feeling jittery despite himself.

“Oh, man. You don't think there are Imperial's around here, do you?” Prompto casts a glance behind himself for good measure, and Ignis looks amused with himself.

“If there are, I do hope cute blonds aren't their type.” There's something playful that borders his words, taking his mind off the undeniable strain of not knowing if Noctis is safe. 

Prompto finds it funny how Ignis can make him feel better and worse at the same time. The compliment makes his cheeks flush a deep red colour, but thinking about the Imperial fleet waiting around the corner for their arrival at any moment makes him even more antsy.

Prompto tries to hurry forward, but as he tries to move past Ignis and down the rocky slope, the tactician loses his footing on the rubble. It doesn't send him sprawling, but it does make him slide forward, his hands reaching out to stop himself instinctively and finding nothing but air.

“Sorry!”

Ignis grunts low, his heart starting to even out to a more reasonable pace once he's no longer slipping.

Prompto learns his lesson about rushing forward, and decides to hang back, trying to remain as close as he can without tripping up Iggy's steps. As Ignis guides him through the paths that look the most promising, he can almost hear Prompto's unsettled, erratic breathing. As sympathetic as he would be to the nervous blond's plight, the sound of him scuffling close behind and making anxious noise is starting to make Ignis anxious.

“Would you prefer we slow down.” Ignis breaks the silence after a little while, peering down at the freckled boy tagging along diligently. “We can't linger, but we can take it easy.”

“Nah. Who, me? No. Nope! I'm good.” Prompto shoots him an unconvincing thumbs up. Really, if they could get out of here sooner rather than later, Prom would probably feel a lot better.

Ignis tsks his tongue against his teeth, but continues the walk through winding pathways regardless of his reply. Barely a few moments of silence pass before he can feel hands wrap around his wrist limply, like a child about to ask a question.

“Now that I think about it, sticking close sounds like a good idea. Ha ha.” Prompto tries to laugh off his nervousness, but it's obvious to Ignis that he's unsettled when he doesn't have a clear shot of the path ahead. Part of him wonders if that might be contributed to Ardyn's presence, the man's focus on Prompto just a tad too violating.

Ignis is quiet and accommodating as he allows Prompto to wrap himself around his arm. It's easier to maintain footing on the slippery ridge when there's someone else to brace against, and if one of them slips, the other will be there to catch them. The image of Noctis's face as he desperately clawed at the ground comes to mind, filling Ignis with a feeling of extreme discomfort. Prompto notices before he can reel it all back in and paint a picture of stoicism over his concern.

“Iggy, do you wanna talk about it?” Prom rips the band-aid off in one movement. It almost makes Ignis stop, but he walks forward still, reluctant to slow down their progress and eager to reunite once again.

“That shan't be necessary.” The tactician reassures, his hand rubbing softly over Prompto's arm.

The ministration is so gentle, it goes straight through Prompto's body like a shot of electricity. He hangs a little tighter to his arm just in time, as the ground starts to quake with the force of the Archaean's movement far below.

They're no longer on an incline, but the force of the rock starting to move causes them to lose footing regardless. It's Prompto who falls to his knees first, his arms going slack from where they clutched onto Ignis like a lifeline. Ignis is the one who holds steadfast, his hands gripping Prompto's shoulders and pulling him close to his chest with something possessive. The mountainside ahead starts to crumble, stones careening down the wall surface and cutting off the walkway ahead.

Prompto stays there even after the earth stops shifting under his feet, his shoulders heaving with every deep, uneven breath. Images of Noctis falling to his death continues to flash rapidly through Ignis's thoughts, making him relive the moment of terror that shot through him like adrenaline over and over again. Prom can feel his heart beating rhythmically through his chest from where he kneels, and for a moment, he thinks he can understand why Ignis doesn't want to talk about it.

He almost feels guilty for feeling good while Ignis appears to be far more bothered than he's letting on. The way he's hugged so closely is something he thinks he could get used to, Iggy's hands a comforting presence in a scary place. Prompto feels embarrassed to admit it, even if it's only to himself.

“Iggy.” Prompto's voice is soft, but there's no reply. He repeats his name again, just as soft as before, his lips leaving gentle kisses over the taller man's jawline. “Ignis.”

Ignis's breathing is less erratic, but his grip is the last thing to falter. Every gentle kiss lingers on his skin like a warm reminder, his lips lingering over his throat like a pleasant breath. It occurs to him that Prompto is speaking, calling his name, pulling him in like a comforting siren in sea of torment. He draws back slowly, his palms resting more comfortably upon his shoulders. Just a moment longer, he tells himself, forcing himself to go on.

Prompto is leaning in and taking his lips in a kiss just as soft as the ones on his face. Ignis closes his eyes as Prom closes the distance, melting away into the tenderness of his touches for just a few seconds. It's tempting to pull away and forget all about it, to move on and pretend like nothing happened, but Prompto licks his tongue over Iggy's lips in one slow movement and that plan decidedly goes down the drain.

“You really need to relax, dude.” Prompto states the obvious in a way that makes Ignis bark a short laugh, turning his gaze away from Prompto's stare.

Iggy caresses his face briefly, dragging his palm over his cheek as he tucks blond strands of hair away from Prompto's face. He stands not too long after, anticipating Prompto's following, offering a hand out for him to take out of courtesy. What he doesn't expect is the photographer shifting forward on his knees, his fingers working meticulously on prying his belt open, undeterred by the public setting as he tries to get his pants open.

“Just what do you think you're doing.” Ignis doesn't sound impressed, but his nervousness seeps into his tone of voice against his attempts otherwise. The surrounding area seems secluded, but now was a bad time. In the history of inappropriate times, this had to be one of the worst.

“I'm helping you out. One friend to another.” Prompto sounds as enthusiastic as ever, convinced he's doing a world of good. Ignis reaches for his hands, but doesn't force them away, which is as good as a green light when it comes to the chamberlain. His half-hearted protests fall on deaf ears.

Ignis is still muttering something about not having the time when his sentence devolves abruptly, swallowed up in his voice as Prompto shoves his cock down his throat. The blond is still looking at him for approval as he takes his length even deeper, gagging hard as the head of his dick hits the back of his throat hard.

The zealousness he has when he tries to deepthroat him all at once makes Ignis feel unbelievably hot, the rising temperature now starting to feel stifling. Prompto's lips are pretty while he has his mouth wide open, but his eyes are captivating as he glances up at Ignis for any tell-tale sign of approval. He can feel Prom's throat constrict hard on his cock when he tries to stop himself from gagging, the sputtering sound he makes settling in Iggy's lower half.

Ignis's hands are gentle as he scrapes his fingernails against Prompto's scalp. The noise he makes is a groan, and Iggy can feel it on his cock, every sound and sucking noise practically asking him to cum. Prompto is enjoying the attention he gets when Ignis focuses on him for once, liking the feeling of having cock fuck out his pretty mouth a little more than he probably should. He turns his head into Iggy's touches, but he pauses once he just barely manages to get all of his length forced down his throat.

Prompto can't speak when there's so much already in his mouth, but he tries to make what he wants apparent regardless of his shortcomings. His hands rest on Ignis's waist, just underneath the fabric of his shirt, his fingertips brushing idly over his bare skin while he relishes the moment. Ignis knows what he wants, and yet again accommodates him by curling his fingers, grasping hold of Prompto's hair in a way that makes the blond groan again around the dick he's sucking absently on.

Every thrust is shallow as Ignis brings his hips forward, feeling the head of his cock fuck his throat open. He's careful still, holding him steady more for Prompto's safety than his own. Ignis is cursing to himself every time he can feel his length swallowed back up by Prompto's warm, wet mouth, his cock now covered in the cute blond's drool as he prevents him from swallowing.

Ignis tries to pull back in time, but his stomach twists with an orgasm that catches him off guard. His fingers alternate from gripping his hair to dragging his nails through the soft tufts of blond, but Prompto doesn't pull away, swallowing all of his cum just as diligently as he trailed behind him. It effectively destroyed the evidence, but Prompto's lips are still red, turned up into another one of his cheerful smiles.

“Better?” Prom questions as he starts to pull himself off the ground. Ignis slides his hand under his forearm, helping him up the rest of the way.

“Very.” Ignis admits, breathless for a second time as he straightens himself out. It's an attempt to look presentable that ends in vain, the sweltering heat rising from the depths of the Archaean's lair making him perspire through his clothes.

Prompto wraps himself around his arm again, setting himself at Ignis's side, ready to continue their journey towards the Titan's dominion with a much more relaxed guide.

*

“Don't rush off on your own, huh.” Gladiolus tries to remind the prince when he starts running forward, eager to escape the winding roads that lead ever deeper towards demise.

“Don't get left behind.” Noctis mocks back. The way he says it makes Gladiolus picture him with his tongue out, a child in a man's body.

“Wise guy.” He sneers.

The path to the meteor is hot. Hotter than Noctis was expecting, to say the least. Still-burning flames lick the ground in lone patches, lighting the way to the Archaean's resting place with ruin. The pain that surges through Noctis's head is ebbing away gradually, but the flock of Dynoaevis that take off in the opposite direction draws his attention towards the sky, their sharp caws reminding him of the headache lurking on the edges of his mind.

“They're on edge-- let's not ruffle their feathers any more.” Gladiolus is also turned towards the sky, watching the birds scatter.

They're not the only ones, Noctis thinks with contempt.

“Um, try shutting your beak.” Is the reply that Gladiolus gets, just as mocking as the way he told him not to fall too far behind.

“Just offering sound advice.” Gladio doesn't sound amused, but he doesn't sound particularly upset, either.

“Yeah. Like a parrot in my ear.” Noctis drenches his sentences in sarcasm.

The heat is continuing to rise the deeper they traverse. Just when he thought it couldn't get any warmer, the flames seem to grow higher, making sweat collect on his forehead and drip into his shirt. A Hi-Potion takes care of the superficial wounds, now a bright pink colour blossoming over his skin. He uses his tender arm to wipe sweat from his brow periodically, aggravated with the sudden spike in temperature already.

As they continue walking through the ashy terrain, it's not long before Noctis is reaching the end of the path they travel, watching as Dynoaevis circle the area in swarms. He utters a soft “damn” to himself as he overlooks the steep drop, tentatively approaching the edge just before Gladiolus calls him closer.

“Over here.” He gestures to a thin edge protruding just barely from the mountain. It's small, but just large enough to leave room for their feet if they press close against the surface of the rock wall.

“I just want this to be over.” Noctis sighs, overheated and exasperated.

Just as they begin yet another treacherous walk, a tremor shakes the ground below, rocking the mountainside with hard shakes. Noctis grips what little rock he can, his fingertips near burning from the sizzling heat seeping through the stony crevices. Gladiolus reaches out to place one of his hands on Noct's chest, holding him against the cliff-side as he tells him to hang on.

Pain ravages through Noctis's mind like a wave. His hand reaches towards his forehead, desperate to ease some of the symptoms of having the Archaean's presence in his brain. 

“A-- Ah. My head...”

“Again? Of all the times...”

Gladiolus grips Noctis's shirt a little tighter, until the prince looks a little less like he's going to puke. The rock continues to crumble around them while Gladio tries to hastily escort them across the ridge, determined to keep his eyes from looking at the drop below.

“Noct? You doing alright?”

The pain is almost unbearable. It feels like his mind is being torn at the seams, incapable of handling the duress of being spoken to in a language long forgotten. He can't bring himself to respond as his headache demands all of his attention unrelentingly, his fingers still slipping from the smooth surface of the rock face behind him.

The wall ahead topples with the strength of the Archaean's hand. Noctis raises his arm to shield his face from the waft of dust that carries on the wind, watching with exasperated horror as its dirty fingers reach blindly toward them.

“Hey! Titan! What's the big idea!?” Noctis calls out angrily, demanding an answer as it tries to clasp at his frame, curling with want just a few feet away from where they stand.

“Save it!” Gladiolus tugs at his shirt, beckoning him forward. “Get to solid ground first!”

“Faster!” Noctis sounds desperate, pain still wracking his mind. Gladiolus manages to maintain his composure, the hand on his chest both reassuring and keeping him held steadfast.

“Calm down. I'm going as fast as I can.”

Titan's fingertips graze Noctis by just a few feet as it swings its hand toward them, a grimacing face peering back at them through the hole it tore in the ceiling. The Archaean's shoulder is too large to fit through the narrow passage, the only thing stopping him from snatching the prince up and making quick work of him then and there. The quick burst of warm wind that carries with every heavy swing would almost be refreshing, if Noctis weren't horrified and plagued with unbelievable pain.

“Almost there.” Gladiolus tries to sound reassuring, but Noctis is still reviling in agony.

The shield reaches out to grip a dead tree branch protruding from the mountain's surface. With an experimental tug, he deems it strong enough to hold Noct's weight, reaching out to take his hand. Not having the support against his chest anymore has Noctis falling forward, his feet slipping from the ledge just inches away from solid ground. Gladiolus snags his wrist hard just in time, sending the prince sprawling towards safety.

Gladiolus lands behind him, toppling to the ground with a grunt of pain. The rocky surface behind him crumbles away where he once stood, but Gladio looks victorious, glancing back at the Archaean's eye peering at them through the hole in the roof.

“If that's his welcome, I'd hate to see how he treats intruders.”

Noctis isn't laughing. He can hear his own heart pounding, but the headache that tore through him from the inside seems to pass while he catches his breath. Gladiolus reaches forward to take hold of him yet again, pulling him to his feet, urging him to keep going despite his need to recuperate. 

Once they disappear behind the shelter of concave rock, Noctis tries to catch his breath. He stumbles forward, muscles starting to feel strained, uncomfortably sticky and running short on patience.

“I'm sick of this endless walking.”

It's the straw that finally breaks the camel's back. It also reminds Gladiolus of the conversation he had with Ignis regarding his penchant for babying him and not letting him carry his own weight. If Noctis wanted someone to dote on him, Gladiolus was not that person. His feet are silent on the smooth stony surface of cooled magma, but as he reaches where Noctis lays almost crumpled on the floor, a broad hand reaches out to grip his shirt hard and pull him close as irritation bubbles up in his chest.

“And I'm sick of your endless whining.” Gladiolus tugs him forward, face to face with the coddled king-to-be. “Calm the hell down.”

Noctis looks taken aback. He hadn't anticipated Gladio snapping at him like that, evident by the wide eyes he wears as he peers up at Gladiolus's handsome face. His eyebrows are creased with frustration, his mouth contorted into an unhappy curve, and for a moment the scar that adorns his battle worn face makes him look more menacing than he really is.

“Get off my back.” Noctis struggles against the fist in his shirt, his face glowing red with irritation. He almost wants to comment on the amount of manhandling Gladiolus has done to him already, but something in his face stops his sarcastic commentary short. Gladiolus is mad enough at him already, he doesn't want to provoke the bear.

Gladio tugs even harder at his shirt, trying to maintain all of Noct's focus. He shakes him like he's trying to shake some sense into him, pulling him close enough that Noctis can feel how warm he is, even surrounded by the overwhelming heat that radiates from the dormant volcanoes core.

“Are you a man of royal blood, or aren't you?”

There's something about his words that light a match in Noctis's heart. It stops him short, ceasing his struggling. Once he stops moving, Gladiolus stops tugging so desperately. 

“Of course I am.” Noctis uses this opportunity to shift away from Gladiolus's steady grip, slipping his shirt out from between his fingers. “I couldn't forget it if I tried. What about it?”

“I ain't saying that you've forgotten, but you gotta know something. You're not the only one having a tough time. We're all on edge.”

Gladiolus manages to render him silence once again. He has this way of seeing through people that can unnerve him at times. Shamefully, Noctis turns his head away, allowing his words to sink in.

“We Amicitia are the King's sworn Shields. Guard the King with our lives-- that's the way it's always been. I've embraced my duty, and I take pride in it.” There's something in the way he says pride that makes Noctis feel something. It's a medley of emotions, adoration and regret mingling together. It makes him turn his head away, unable to meet his bare gaze while he's being reprimanded.

“When you can't focus, I focus for you. It's my job, so let me do it, alright?”

“Alright.” Noctis agrees quietly, nothing but a breath of air.

“Sorry, but I had to get it out. C'mon.” Gladiolus starts to lead the way, not wanting to dwell on the mushy and emotional for too long.

His words continue to play through Noctis's head like a mantra, reminding him of the important.

We're all on edge.

I'd die for you.

I take pride in that.

“Hey, Gladio.” Noctis sounds almost bashful. “Your dad... I'm grateful to him.”

“Just doing his job.” Gladiolus reassures at the same time Noct's phone begins to ring. For a moment, he's surprised he gets cellphone service, being all the way down there.

Noct brings the phone to his ear, breathing another soft “Ignis” after seeing his name appear on his screen. All the pent up worry starts to ease away, comforted by the sound of his voice responding over the speaker.

“You're safe. Good.” Ignis sounds even more reassured than Noctis does. “Listen, Imperial troops are near.”

His voice is mottled with static, fading away until Noct's volume cuts out entirely. Noctis isn't sure if it's a signal jammer or a bad connection, but he's not willing to sit around and find out.

“It sounds like we're about to have Imperial company.”

“About to get even hotter in here.”

*  
Noctis can feel the comforting arms of Gladiolus slide around his waist moments before he's pushed to the side, out from under the Archaean's stomping feet and into safety.

“I owe you one.” Noctis speaks breathlessly, pulling himself to his feet.

“Can't have you dying on me here.” Gladiolus starts the sprint to safety, weapon drawn as he guides the way towards a winding path upwards.

Titan continues to kick blindly at the ground below, sending rock spraying into various directions. The path they walk starts to fall under the weight of the Archaean's lofty size, destroying everything in its very limited path. Fists and feet aim towards them both, dodged by mere centimetres as they run blindly through the twisting road.

Gladiolus pushes Noctis over a large barricade, using his hands to propel his feet over a small cliff. Noctis turns back as he heaves himself upwards, cursing quietly as Gladio pulls himself up close behind him. The hand of the Archaean reaches towards them again, slamming flat on the ground they once crouched after narrowly sliding out of the way.

Gladio pulls himself to his feet before Noctis, breaking into a sprint. “Don't stop! Run!”

“He just won't quit.” Noctis sounds exhausted. Sweat drips over every inch of his body, making him feel wet and uncomfortable.

Gladiolus swings his blade over Noctis's head, the edge of his Greatsword hitting off the steely grip of the titan's hand with a loud clang. His other hand braces against the flat edge of his blade, muscles flexing as he pushes back on the offending appendage with all his strength.

“I'll hold him back. Go!” 

“Gladio!”

“Hurry! I can't keep this up!”

Noctis has no choice. He turns towards the edge of the cliff, veering his weapon towards the closest warp point he can find.

Never looking back. Only forward.  
*

Ardyn appears on an empire flagship, among the bubbling lava and wake of the Archaean's destruction, looking like condemnation rather than a blessing.

“Fancy meeting you here!”

Prompto points towards him dumbly. Noctis stares through the offending figure with a hard gaze, and Ignis turns away, pacing uncomfortably and hanging his head low with realization. Gladiolus takes a step forward, a frustrated expression settled on his face that makes even Prompto nervous.

“It occurs to me I've never formally introduced myself.” He calls from the extending ramp, the ship he stands on hovering low. “Izunia. Ardyn Izunia.”

Ignis doesn't look happy. Whether it's for this dawning realization, or his own naivety, he himself is unsure. Noctis looks disgruntled and exhausted, wiping yet another sheen of sweat from his forehead.

“Imperial Chancellor Ardyn Izunia?” Ignis questions, though he already knows the answer. The ground trembles like a reply to his inquiry.

“At your service. And more importantly, to your aid.” Ardyn extends his arms out like a lavish declaration. Gladiolus grimaces, and everyone else steps back.

“I guarantee your safe passage. Though you're always welcome to take your chances down there.” Ardyn adds. They have no choice. He knows they have no choice, and so do they.

Everyone watches him with suspicion, eyes narrowing as they consider their very limited options. If they stay, the heat would boil them alive before the lava did, and their only entrance to the outside world is crumbling away in the Archaean's absence.

“Buried among the rubble, is it?” Ardyn asks in their silence, his mouth turned into a smile. It's not a smile that reaches his eyes.

“Dying here is not an option. We have no choice, Noct.” Ignis sounds defeated. A geyser spews lava into the air a few feet from where he stands, a reminder of the peril they're in.

Noctis looks angry. 

“I know.”

Ardyn, however, appears elated. The ramp dips low enough to allow the four boys entry onto the floating vestibule, and despite their hesitance, the relief of escaping a tormenting heat is definitely a perk. As the door to the ship closes behind them, the first thing Prompto notices is a distinct absence of windows, metal walls on all four sides feeling more like a prison than a solace.

“Don't tell me we can't be friends after this little... revelation.” Ardyn doesn't sound like he's very distraught over the prospect. “And we were getting along so well before.”

“What's your game.” Noctis interrupts Ardyn's out-loud monologue. His sudden outburst doesn't seem to phase the chancellor, but from what Prompto has gleaned, not much tends to surprise him.

“Game? There's no game.” Ardyn reassures. For a moment, Prompto feels like he believes him, until he catches a glimpse of Ignis's suspicious gaze and Gladio's hand inching closer and closer towards his sword. “I simply assisted you from the kindness of my heart. Is that really so hard to believe?”

“Yeah, it is.” Gladiolus interrupts this time, trying not to appear as though he were itching for a fight.

Ardyn's eyes fall on Gladio's weapon momentarily, but even that is cast aside as he turns his gaze towards Prompto, who sits on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest.

“Let's just say the Empire and I have some differences on how we want to run things.” Ardyn pulls his lips up into another polite smile. Prompto wants to believe this guy has good intentions, determined not to judge a book by the unsettling cover.

“You look a bit pale, lamb.” Ardyn peers down at the boy sitting on his ship floor. Prompto thought he felt small before, but he feels even smaller now, feeling himself get scrutinized.

“Just a little, uh...” Prompto swallows, peering around the room. The artificial light casts shadows on the wall that appear menacing. “... confined in here.” His voice is as small and strained as he feels.

Ardyn's smile broadens while Gladiolus looks concerned. Prompto isn't sure if it's something he said, but Gladio is set even further on edge, taking another step toward him. Ardyn seems to notice the shift, because he looks back at Gladiolus and gestures flippantly with his hand.

“I'll be dropping you off close by. 'Tis a pity. I was looking forward to spending more time in your amiable presence.” Ardyn refers to the room as a whole, pointedly ignoring whatever tension seems to bloom over his distinguished guests.

“I suppose we'll have to leave the cordiality for a later date.” 

Ardyn continues despite the silence of the room. 

“I can assure you, this won't be the last we'll be seeing of each other. Do take care. Next time, you might not be so lucky.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this over the course of 12 hours so i want to apologize in advance if you notice any mistakes or repeats in words. maybe ill go over this chapter and clean it up a little bit but im eager to get to ardyn/prom cus im a little bit of a sadist im not gonna lie 2 you
> 
> i appreciate every single comment, it gives me motivation to post more chapters instead of scrapping this whole thing (like i probably should) so if you enjoy it or hate it feel free to let me know. thanks for reading :) xox

Noctis pulls his hand away from the fir. The rain pelts his face relentlessly, drenching his clothes and matting black hair to his forehead. A memory of Gentiana lingers still on his thoughts, a rush of power flowing through his veins like electricity. In the beyond, lightning strikes and thunder rolls like a creature in the clouds.

“I remember... back in Tenebrae, with Gentiana...”

Her voice accompanies his statement like punctuation, speaking directly into his head, as smooth as a whisper into the deepest reaches of his mind.

_“The revelation of the Stormsender awaits the king.._.

_Hurry hence, to the eye of the storm._

_Foreign hordes fear the True King's ascension._

_The fearful seek to seal the path of what must come.”_

“What is it? Another headache?” Prompto asks nervously, concern etched into his face.

“I heard her. Gentiana.”

“Divine voices in your head again?” Gladiolus sounds exasperated. Noctis decides he has every reason to be, after Titan had brought him to his knees, narrowly sending him face first into a ravine. If it weren't for Gladio, he'd be dead already.

“Hopefully it won't amount to the same headache it did with the Archaean.” Ignis points out. Despite his introspection, wariness lingers in the tone of his voice.

The mist is heavy and impeding. Rain whips their skin as they trudge through the greenery, blown sideways by the blustering winds coming in from the south. It limits their vision by a few dozen feet, but Noctis can still see the purple flashes of lightning striking their next runestone just a few miles away.

Noct summons the chocobo's with his whistle, but Prompto is too nervous to get excited about it. The wetness seeps through their clothes and makes the fabric cling to their skin, but every gust of tepid wind makes the rain feel cold. Prompto shudders. Ignis peers at him warily, already starting to fret about his health.

_“The Oracle's call awakens the Gods... that their blessings find the king.”_

“You alright?” Ignis asks first and foremost. “What did she say?”

“That Luna's awakening the Six.” Noctis uses the palm of his hand to rub over his forehead, traces of her voice still echoing through his thoughts.

“Judging by the trajectory, it's safe to assume Luna spoke with the Archaean the very moment she fled.” Ignis speculates, musing aloud.

“You really owe her big time, Noct.” Gladiolus is keen to remind him, eyeing him down from where he sits atop his red-feathered chocobo.

“I can't wait to thank her in person.”

Noctis says it in a way that makes Ignis's gut twist with jealousy before he can help himself. His knuckles are white where they curl into the chocobo's reigns, jaw clenching hard when his lips contort into a straight line. It's a feeling that rots with guilt as Ignis tries to focus on the path ahead, guiding his bird through bending trees and lush foliage. After all, Noctis was never his. Lunafreya doesn't deserve it, and neither does the prince.

Ignis is so focused on trying to appear collected that he didn't notice Gladiolus trying to place a call.

“Come on, pick up.” Gladiolus pleads frustrated into the phones mouthpiece.

“Not answering?” Prompto asks him inquisitively, drawing closer on his chocobo as they meander from the treeline to the pavement. He doesn't have to ask who he's calling to know that Gladio is looking for his sister.

“Probably got her phone on silent.” Gladiolus sounds optimistic, but while Prompto and Gladiolus converse briefly on Iris's whereabouts, their voices become background noise as Gentiana fills the prince's head with her warning.

_“The covenant is forged, but the revelation awaits. Make now for the stormsender, and let judgment be passed.”_

“Noct! You okay?” Prompto sounds worried, pulling his chocobo closer when he hears the king sigh with pain.

“Yeah. Another reminder to recieve the blessing.” Noctis doesn't seem grateful for the voice in his head.

“That divine power's just waiting for you.” Gladiolus's voice drips with barely concealed jealousy.

Noctis almost wants to tell him to take it. If Gladio admired strength that much, Noct would be more than willing to hand off his crown to his shield. What he wouldn't give to pass on the title of _“chosen”_ to someone else, someone much more befitting of the word, who saved his life on two separate occasions already and already resigned himself to die in the name of the king. It's a selfish desire, and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

When Noctis pulls up to the entrance of the second runestone, another headache rears its head, making him stumble and reach out for the rock wall. No-one asks if he's alright this time, but Ignis's face flashes something akin to sadness for just a few seconds.

Noct reaches out to place his hand upon the bark. The moment his fingertips touch the tree, red, crackling light engulfs the area in a wave. As Noctis's body absorbs more power from the storm and heavens above, the light fades, fizzling out like a sparkler and leaving the air pungent with the smell of burnt ozone.

_“O King.” Gentiana calls from the void like a siren, guiding him away from perdition. “Journey to Fociaugh, the eastern hollow.”_

_“The seal has been lifted. Deep within the heart of rock lies the runestone, the portal to power. No other can be allowed to find it.”_

“The last one's in a cave.” Noctis states knowingly, walking away from the smouldering tree, drawing closer to the clearing. It doesn't occur to him that when Gentiana says “no other”, she's not referring to the imperial troopers.

“Let's hurry up and get this over with.” Gladiolus sounds even more on edge than he was before, which Noctis thinks might be contributed to by Iris's lack of correspondence.

“Finally! Time to meet with the Stormsender!” Prompto bounds along behind them with visible excitement.

“You'd better look your best.” Ignis doesn't sound like he's joking.

Imperial troopers are already walking up the pathway, weapons drawn as they close in on the area. At first glance, it doesn't seem like they're aware of the king's presence. It occurs to Ignis that they must be following the lightning strikes just as they are, already on patrol in the 45 minutes it took to ride towards the glen. 

They're all low-level troopers that are dealt with quickly. In less than a minute of blades and flame, bodies are disappearing into the ether, and Noctis is setting out on his journey towards the stormsender's cave. Still, the imperial's presence here isn't a positive indicator. To Ignis, having a small fleet try to seal off the area is more like a warning. It means someone knows where they are, and what they're doing.

The chancellor has been one step ahead of them this entire time, and it's not a reassuring fact.

“Now. Where has our Regalia driven off to?” Prompto poses the question while settling on his chocobo.

“We'd better find her before we set sail.” Gladiolus isn't pleased with this revelation.

“Can't leave the old girl behind.” Noctis agrees while rearing his chocobo forward.

“Indeed.” Ignis responds distantly, still thinking about the implications behind troopers and the chancellor's potential involvement.

While Noctis rides them out of the thicket and towards civilization, Prompto tries to lighten the mood. 

“So, Noct.” He starts, drawing the prince's attention towards himself. “Right now you're still gathering your powers, but. What'll you do when you found them all?”

“The calling is only a set of guiding principles.” Ignis reminds them from where he's trailing behind.

“Well, hopefully it'll _guide_ him into taking down the Empire once and for all.” Gladiolus pipes up. 

“Yeah. Like the sound of that.” Noctis hums, lost in thought already.

Thunder continues to rumble in the sky behind them, sounding closer and closer every time. Prompto isn't afraid of thunderstorms, but it almost sounds like a monster in its intensity, following them through the sky as they ride into the gale. The sound makes the ground tremble beneath their feet as they ride on, running against the wind, sprinting through the nor'easter on the backs of their chocobo.

Prompto is almost about to complain about the force of the storm before lightning crashes behind the mountains just ahead. Roaring thunder follows, mother nature's symphony reaching the climax of her song.

“Looks like it was coming from over there.” Gladiolus points.

“And... we're supposed to go inside?” Prompto responds nervously, watching Noctis bring his chocobo to a halt just outside the cavern's entrance.

His question is answered for him as Noctis trudges silently along, his shoes squelching into the soft earth below. Prompto's never felt more grateful for royally appointed garments before. He may be soaked through to the bone, but at least his feet feel dry. 

The cave is damp and musty. It's not cold, like the grotto, but every breath makes Prompto's lungs feel heavy. It's not as panic-inducing as the channels that ran through the mines, which is just one tiny, little bonus. Gladiolus seems to pick up on his hesitance easily enough, because as Noctis starts to move slowly through the cave's corridors, Prompto can feel Gladio's body press close against his in the dark.

“I've got a bad feeling about this place.” Prompto warns, picking up on the discomfort of having eyes on his back.

“As if danger lurks 'round every corner.” Ignis replies, purposefully trying to sound ominous as he teases Prompto for getting easily spooked.

“Avoid all corners. Got it!” Prompto resounds cheerfully. Gladiolus places a hand on his back when he can see the small slit in the wall they're supposed to slide through, a reassuring motion that lingers for a few seconds when his claustrophobia comes to mind.

“Should be able to slip through.” Noctis starts, turning his body to the side.

It's a much more narrow crevice compared to the one back at the Disc of Cauthess. The stone embraces his slender body on both sides, his hands outstretched and gripping at the mossy surface as he takes one step through at a time. The rock feels smooth under his hands, but the fabric of his shirt scrapes against his chest uncomfortably when he leans too far in either direction.

“Tight squeeze.” Gladiolus breathes, his chest constricted tightly on either side. Prompto's never really took notice of how massive he is until now, sliding through immediately after.

“Maybe for you.” Prompto says cheerfully yet again, teasing him for his almost ridiculous size. “Preeeetty easy for me, though.”

Gladiolus scoffs as best he can in the position he's in. He reaches through the narrow spacing to push at Prompto's shoulder, making the blond laugh and then stop abruptly when he can feel his shirt tug on a protruding angle.

“On second thought... maybe not.”

Prompto heaves in a large breath of air when he's no longer trapped in an enclosed space. Gladiolus pats his back hard, silent commendation after facing his fears. Gladio isn't broadcasting it, which makes Prompto feel a little prouder, like his silent praise is something for him only. The blond beams at him just in time for the sound of something groaning to echo through the hollow chamber, deep and rumbling like the thunder overhead.

“Shh!” Gladiolus freezes entirely, stopping Noctis in his tracks.

“Keep quiet!” Ignis resounds, crouching low as he tries to peer into the darkness ahead.

“Who? What? Where?” Prompto replies, blinking rapidly with confusion as he turns to stare into the hallway ahead.

“I don't know, but I don't like it.” Gladiolus is wary, his hand resting atop Prompto's shoulder, heavy and personal.

Noctis is the one who steps ahead first. He seems unconcerned with the creature making the ominous sound in the distance, but he summons his sword at his side readily, blue light ricocheting off the walls and illuminating the way like a guiding light for a brief second.

The walk feels endless. Every hallway makes Prompto feel like they've been here before, or they're walking in circles, and he's sure to voice his displeasure only once or twice while he's under Gladiolus's scrutinizing gaze. Thankfully, Gladio doesn't complain about Prompto's complaining like the shorter boy thought he would. Noctis seems to notice Gladio's hesitance to comment on his bitching, but Gladiolus responds to Noct's curious look with raised eyebrows as though he were daring him to say something.

The sound of something grating fills the chamber, echoing from the dark like a pained groan. It makes Noctis stop short, a shiver creeping over his skin when the sound becomes a little more audible. It seems to reverberate from a small tunnel that branches off from their destination, the entrance partially enclosed with jagged rocks, deterring them from going forward.

“W-- What was that sound?” Prompto asks nervously, stuttering on the words in his mouth.

_“My baby...”_

The voice that responds is a whispered hiss that creeps up the dark tunnel like molasses. It's too contorted to be something human, but Prompto's curiosity gets the better of him. He takes a step forward, closer towards the cavern edge, overlooking the hole just a little too closely for his own good.

Noctis is the one who hears the sharp gasp first, his head swivelling around to see the space where his friend stood now empty. Prompto's scream is terrified as it gets further and further away, and Noctis calls his name with desperation into the inky blackness.

Prompto's still sliding down the steep tunnel fast when he hears Noctis call from somewhere above him. The rocks scrape his back on the way down, but they don't pierce through the fabric of his shirt, leaving his skin bleeding with shallow wounds that sting in their wake. There's a tight grip around his ankle, cutting off his circulation, making him yank his leg back hard with pain. The scaly tendril around his foot pulls him from the tunnel and onto the hard floor below, but the body it's attached to makes him yelp with shock when he's face to face with a snake wearing a woman's face.

“Prompto! Are you okay?” Gladiolus calls from the hallway where they rush towards the open space.

“No, I'm not okay!” Prompto sounds distraught, still yanking hard at his leg. The Naga slithers closer, inspecting him carefully. “This place is literally the worst! And why did it have to be a snake!? That thing dragged m--” 

Prompto screams loudly as the snake woman pulls him forward hard, dragging him over the rocky ground with another sharp tug. His head snaps back against the floor with the force of her yanking, making his vision go white just after seeing Noctis emerge from the tunnel above.

Noctis hisses with frustration as he watches Prompto get pulled forward. He could hear the sound of Prompto hitting his head against the floor, watching his expression go slack as his eyes glaze over. It's definitely not a good sound, but Prompto seems to come to his senses fast, his body going slack as the Naga's scaly tail slithered further up his leg.

“That's it. I quit.” Prompto tries to stop struggling against the snake's grasp, his body relaxing as he feels it sliding further and further up his leg. His ears ring with a concussion, his vision still shifting from side to side like sitting on a boat in a tumultuous sea.

“Come on! Stay with me!” Gladiolus's voice carries on the walls of the cave, booming and powerful like an angry god. Prompto can hear the sound of his blade slicing through daemon flesh somewhere above him, but his voice is the one thing compelling him to keep going, pushing through the pain and forcing his hand to his belt.

Prompto manages to pull his gun out just as the Naga's body started crawling around his middle, squeezing hard on his waist like the grip it pulled him down with. He raises to the snake woman's face just as she opened her mouth, sending a bullet directly into the back of her gaping throat with a sound that echoes off the cavern's chambers.

The daemon screams loudly, her voice a screech that resembles nails on a chalkboard. Prompto brings his hands to his ears, his palms laying flat, protecting his ear ducts from the awful noise that pierces his brain like a dagger. The Naga's body uncoils from around his, retreating to the safety of a cave tunnel, her blood still coating Prompto's clothes with dark splatters.

Gladiolus's hands are warm as they pull him off the floor with one tug. When Prompto opens his eyes, his vision has more or less returned to normal, though his head throbs with the pain of a migraine. He leans his body against Gladio's for a moment of stability, letting the Shield hold onto his waist while he regains his balance.

It's not a moment that lasts very long. Ignis continues to slice through a Hobgoblin while Noctis busies with a Mindflayer, and Gladiolus is soon pushing Prompto off into Ignis's direction while he leaves to aid his king. Ignis had already made quick work of the daemon, so just a few bullets seemed to do the trick, sending it cascading to the floor as a puddle of dark miasma.

As soon as the Mindflayer is destroyed, Noctis is running off towards the tunnel where the Naga disappeared. Prompto knows that they need to destroy it before it causes some actual damage, but the feeling of a scaly tail wrapped around his ankle still lingers on his skin. His head hurts, his leg hurts, and his back hurts. Prompto wasn't kidding when he said this place was literally the worst.

“She's here-- I just know it.” Prompto still sounds nervous as he follows Noctis further into the dark, his hand poised on his weapon, prepared to pull the trigger. “Show yourself already!” He calls desperately, eyes shifting wildly over the room.

“Cool it.” Gladiolus reprimands, sounding angry with him in a way that makes Prompto feel kind of small.

The Naga had already heard them. She tumbled from the ceiling in a waterfall of liquid, clearly an elemental of water, picking her slimy body from the floor and looking upon the prince with disdain. Her mouth drooled with thick black blood, pooling from the bullet wound Prompto left in her mouth, her tongue flicking forward like a snake.

“See! I told you!” Prompto exclaims, pointing his gun towards it. “There she is! That's her! Do something, Noct!”

“Don't ask me. Do it yourself.” Noctis doesn't sound concerned. Even as he stares down the daemonic woman-looking creature, his voice doesn't falter, sounding more exasperated than he does fearful.

_“My baby... where...”_

“Can't help you.” Noctis squints, his grip tightening on the handle of his blade, disquieted by its ability to speak.

The Naga bellows, lurching forward, mouth bared as though ready to bite.

Noctis swings his sword just in time. It slices a thin line through the Naga's mouth, making her shriek and recoil with pain. Prompto takes a step back, gun still drawn, waiting for an open shot as the daemon slithers to the other side of the room.

“Whatever that is, it's disgusting.” Prompto sounds repulsed.

“Quit your crying.” Noctis mocks, sending a well-timed warp strike towards the daemon's skull.

Prompto still feels iffy as he trains his gun on the creature's face. Every bullet doesn't seem to pierce deep enough to bother it, or seems to miss and hit the rock wall just a short distance away. Everyone tries to take focus on hurting it rather than taking notice of the blond, until it circles around him, catching him off guard before it lunges forward and tries to snare Prompto in its grasp.

“Prompto!” Gladiolus's arm wraps around him like a half-hug, but the hand bracing his sword swings around him, catching the snake by its throat and opening it up like a gutted fish.

The Naga dies with an ugly sound, writhing on the floor, coiling and uncoiling its tail. Blood coats the floor where it slithers, its voice a scream as it fades into the void, the body decomposing quickly into black sludge on the ground.

_“Bring back... my baby...”_

“What was she talking about?” Ignis sounds curious from where he cleans off his blade on his pant leg, covered in the least amount of plasma, but still drenched from the unrelenting rain.

“Beats me.” Noctis replies, putting away his sword when he deems the threat over.

“I 'unno. Something about her 'baby'.” Gladiolus still spares a curious look at Prompto, wondering idly to himself if maybe she was referring to the cute blond she tried to capture for herself.

“If it's anything like her, I ain't going near it.” Prompto doesn't seem to notice Gladiolus looking at him, wiping his face off on the back of his hand. When he looks down, its coated in blood that isn't his, making him shudder when he can't distinguish between blood and rainwater in his black shirt.

Noctis has been following the chambers blindly now, but he seems confident in where he's going. He leads them off to yet another winding hallway, and Prompto stumbles behind, trying to keep up despite exhaustion starting to itch away at his composure.

“Do you guys see anything?” Prompto asks, thoroughly sketched out after everything that's happened in this hell on earth.

“Nothing that's gonna snatch you up.” Gladiolus tries to reassure him, teasing him for his nervousness at the same time. Still, there's something on Prompto's face that makes his heart sink a little deeper in his chest.

The last runestone is a beautiful thing. Lit up by the pale glow of filtered sunlight beaming through a hole in the rock, a single tree extended high towards the blossoming light, shrouded in leafy green fronds and nourished by a small crystalline puddle. The cave was musty and damp, but this small hollow in the cave depths feels clean. It must be clean air wafting in from the ceiling that lifts his spirits and makes Noctis feel lighter, drawn closer to the relatively average looking tree by an unseen force.

Red light engulfs the small area as Noctis places his palm on the bark. It's the same crackling electricity that they saw at the last point, but amplified much stronger by the blessing of Ramuh himself. It envelops Noct's being, branching like the tendrils of a lightning strike, making his eyes illuminate lavender with the glow of a new, higher power.

The image of Luna requesting the power of the Fulgarian comes to his mind like the visions of the Archaean that plagued him. It's a brief, passing moment, but Noctis can see her looking upon it with reverence, the God of Storm sympathetic to her plight. The image fades just as soon as it began, leaving him with the bittersweet imprint of his future wife in his thoughts.

It's not a vision that he's willing to share. Noctis turns to face his Crownsguard, brimming with a new power coursing through his soul.

“This is it... the power of the storm.”

“Eh, I expected more fire and brimstone.” Prompto shrugs off the epic display with nonchalance.

“Some gods are friendlier than others, I guess.”

“But not all of 'em... poor Luna.” Gladiolus laments.

“Perhaps you'd better console her in person.” Ignis tries to conceal whatever disappointment lays hidden away in his heavy heart.

“Just a boat ride away!” Prompto sounds enthusiastic, ready to escape Lucius and travel.

“Lose that scowl along the way.” Gladiolus chides Noctis, who doesn't seem happy, despite being blessed with the power of a god.

“Will do.” Noctis still isn't pleased, wearing the same frown all the way back to the cave entrance.

*

Prompto opens his arms wide, closing his eyes while the sun warms his face.

“Hey! It's finally stopped raining!”

“Guess Ramuh finally got sick of showers.” Gladiolus turns his face towards the sky as well, but the sun is cast out by shadow as a massive imperial ship soars through the sky overhead. It hangs low, observing the area, preparing for descent somewhere nearby.

“It's huge! Way bigger than the last one we saw.” Prompto sounds impressed, eyes wide as he watches it continue to fly over the pine.

“This is just conjecture, but I do believe that ship was meant to arrive far earlier. The thunder and lightning must've slowed it down. There's a chance they intend to deliver the Regalia to Niflheim.” Ignis hadn't thought about it before, but it would make sense that they'd take the Regalia back to headquarters and scrap it for parts.

“We oughta thank the thunder god for buying us some time.” Gladiolus is satiated, pleased with the fact that their plans were delayed.

“But that time is running out.” Prompto tries to remind them, thinking of how the poor Regalia must be faring, handled by imperials with dirty hands.

“Yeah. Let's run in and ride off.” Noctis boards his chocobo, who was still waiting patiently outside for his master's return.

*

The conversation with Cindy was short, but enlightening. Ever helpful with her information, Cindy was the one who pinpointed their exact location, though she couldn't offer much in the way of leveraging the empire into giving her the Regalia. It ultimately doesn't matter. Noctis intends on fucking things up as payback for stealing his car, and no one wants to talk him out of it, intent on paying their dues tenfold for the unnecessary hassle. The plan to steal back the Regalia had already been set in motion-- though Noctis insists they do it after cleaning up, and Ignis hastily agrees.

“All that time, he was the chancellor.” Noctis thinks out loud while they ride through the empty street, letting the sun and wind dry out his wet, dirty clothes.

“I had my suspicions, but that was well beyond them.” Ignis admits. The car, the clothes, the demeanour, it was all a bit too lavish. Like someone trying to feign normalcy while being anything but.

“He's awful friendly for an enemy leader.” Prompto still sounds like he doesn't believe Ardyn's claim to fame. It almost makes Gladiolus want to reach over and smack some sense into him for being so naive, and yet protect him from the chancellor's false portrayal of friendliness and the way he still seems to make Prompto think he's harmless.

Gladiolus presses “end” on his ringing phone and puts it back into his pocket.

“The hell. She's not answering.”

“Iris?” Noctis asks.

“She call you?”

“No messages.”

Gladio grunts, the corners of his lips pulling into a frown. It draws Prompto's gaze away from the road for a few seconds, letting his chocobo control the direction for a few seconds as they hasten forward. Sothmocke Haven is a little campsite just a small distance away from the imperial base that reportedly holds their precious Regalia, and Ignis insists they camp there until nightfall, more desperate to get out of his wet and bloody clothes than the prince is.

“So, any bright ideas, Ignis?” Noctis questions from where he's pulling his clothes off his body already, unconcerned with having his Crownsguard see him bare naked when he's grimy and sticky.

“A dark one, as it were. A frontal assault would leave us exposed. But, if we move under cover of night, we might be able to infiltrate the base unnoticed.” Ignis starts unbuttoning his shirt, pointedly avoiding the temptation to steal a glance at the king.

“And until then?”

“We learn all we can about the base's design and attempt to narrow down the Regalia's location. I'll analyze what intelligence we have available to find us a way in.” Ignis is already thinking of calling Cor for this one.

“Sounds good, Specs.”

“Alright! We're gonna get our wheels back!” Prompto raises his hands high into the air, practically bouncing in one place.

Ignis might not have expected having their main mode of transportation stolen from directly underneath them, but he did have enough foresight to pack spare clothes. Noctis almost gasps in relief when Iggy pulls them from storage, and though they might not be the same royal attire they regularly adorn, casual wear will just have to suffice. Noctis hates going without a shower, but having a dry set of clothes will have to appease him for now. There's not a lot of time before the sun sinks below the mountains anyway, and they'll be in and out of Aracheole Stronghold before anyone is the wiser.

That's what he tells himself, at least. Things are never as clear cut as he wants them to be.

*

The Regalia is waiting for them like a godsend inside the now ruined imperial base. Broken technology still fizzles and sparks in the background, but the sound dies out when the sun starts to peek above the cement walls surrounding the stronghold, casting a warm glow over the car that almost makes it look angelic. To Prompto, at least. He can't imagine what Cindy would think if he had lost their precious Regalia, the one thing she seemed to be interested in.

“Uh... guys.” The chocobo lover utters nervously, facing away from the Regalia, his gaze focused on something else.

The silver haired high commander approaches closer, his long, gold-hilted saber drawn and at the ready. Noctis immediately notices that his father's sword is strapped to his back, the handle coming up just above his shoulder. It almost makes him want to reach out and grab it, pull it from its sheath and run him through a dozen times. The commander looks displeased, the corners of his lips drawn into a tight line.

“Long has it been, Noctis.” The words aren't friendly, but his name is spit with even more malice than his terse greeting.

“Ravus.” Noct sounds and looks surprised, taken aback by his presence.

“You recieve the storm's blessing, and yet, you know nothing of the consequences.” Ravus comes to a stop standing directly in front of the crowned prince. Noctis almost feels imposed upon, more intimidated standing in front of this 6'7” model-esque military dog than he ever did in front of the chancellor.

Gladiolus already looks ready for a fight, taking a cautious step forward, his hands balled into tight fists. He can feel his nails sink into his palms with how hard he's bracing, but his jaw clenches hard as he watches Ravus bring the tip of his Alba Leonis to the very edge of Noct's throat.

Ravus's hand is unwavering on the handle, his eyes pouring deep into Noct's irises. Though he doesn't intend on piercing through his pretty throat and pinning his body to his beloved car, the bare fury that slips across the prince's face is, truly, a sight to behold. It makes him feel powerful. It also makes him wonder just how easy it would be to cut him open, right here, with the people he loves the most watching just as he had watched his mother die in Noct's name.

Noctis continues to back up towards the car, taking a backward step with every foot Ravus moves forward. Ignis is careful not to provoke the high commander any further than he is already, but Gladiolus steps forward, telling him in a not-too-polite voice to “watch it.”

Ravus draws the blade away from Noctis, positioning the edge of his sword at the base of Gladio's neck instead. In one swift movement, Ravus could have his windpipe on the floor, and Gladiolus knows it. It's the only thing that makes him stop advancing, held still with the weapon dancing on the edge of his throat like a tickle. Gladiolus takes a step back, but the sword follows him.

“Be still. All of you.” Ravus extends his metal prosthetic out towards Ignis, making him pause in his own closing steps. The tactician stills, but looks almost like he's ready to lunge forward. It's a dangerous face Gladiolus hasn't seen him make very often.

“Not good...” Prompto observes aloud, drawing Ravus's multicoloured eyes on his face instead. He swallows hard under the high commander's penetrating stare, but tries to do as he says and keeps as still as possible.

“Heir to a crown befitting no other... witness his splendour and glory.” Ravus draws his attention onto Noctis now, mocking his cowering inactivity. His expression still drips with malice, eyes narrowing as he impedes upon the small prince's personal space. “All hail the chosen king.”

“Awful high and mighty of an imperial rat, serving the enemy to hunt down Luna!” Noctis replies sharply before he can hold his tongue.

The accusation feels like spit in his face. Ravus's eyes narrow with unbridled fury as this spoiled brat, who dares to call himself the next King of Lucius, implies his loyalties lie beyond blood. When all this boy has done was put her in harms way, draining her very life's essence, destroying her from the inside for his own selfish desires without ever lifting a finger. Ravus presses the blade even closer to Gladio's neck as he steps forward.

“I do not serve.” Ravus closes his metal fingers around Noct's throat swiftly, closing his grip around his neck hard. It compresses his airway, making Noctis gasp with laboured inhales.

“I command.” His grip tightens, harder and harder, threatening to snap his neck as Noctis's fingers scrape against the metal appendage around his neck. The pale expanse of his throat almost looks pretty when he's got his hand around it.

Ravus pushes him backwards like a discarded tissue before he decides otherwise. The prince needs to live, for his sister, the one person he'd do anything for. Even if that meant allowing Noctis to walk away, mostly unscathed, though bruises start to adorn his throat like a patch of flowers where his fingertips dug into his neck. Gladiolus steps forward once Ravus has the blade poised elsewhere, shielding Noct's body with his own, while Prompto tries to rub Noct's back as he intakes large gasps of air.

“The king's sworn Shield.”

“You better believe it.” Gladiolus stands tall, an even more intimidating figure, looking down on him in a way that would make Ravus laugh if he weren't so bitter.

“A weak shield protects naught.” Ravus draws his Alba Leonis again, bringing it down over Gladio's head just in time for the Amicita to parry. The sound of metal on metal is a sharp noise, but while Gladiolus has both hands on his blade, Ravus is using his other hand to send the shield flying hard into the Regalia.

The sword falls to the ground with a clatter as Gladiolus slams against the car with his back, scraping the exterior and almost bruising his spine. It wasn't a force that was intended to harm, and Gladio knows it.

“Gladio!” Noctis wheels around. Gladiolus seems to pick himself off the ground fine, but the prince is boiling with fury now, summoning his armiger and surrounding himself with pale light.

“Wanna go? Let's do it.”

“Should the chosen fall, that too is fate.” Ravus still doesn't sound impressed, though he doesn't advance forward. It's a statement that doesn't precede to action, as their party of five soon becomes a party of six.

The chancellor may have found some entertainment in watching Noctis get strangled, but it's certainly not time for the kid to die. Ravus won't be the one to take that away from him. Noctis and his company won't hold up against Ravus at this point-- they need more time, more power.

“I'd say that's far enough.” Ardyn approaches the lively team of rascals, and it's the first time Prompto's heard him say anything that wasn't sing-song or even somewhat condescending. The chancellor raises his hand to stop Ignis in his tracks with the tactician takes a step forward, clearly anticipating an altercation. “A hand, highness?”

“Not from you.” Noctis states, point blank.

“Oh, but I'm here to help.” Ardyn sounds like he's getting tired of repeating himself.

“And how is that?” Ignis almost regrets asking, resentment clearly visible on every inch of his face.

“By taking the army away.” The chancellor smiles back at the king's tactician, deciding not to mince words when everyone is so very high strung.

“You expect us to believe that?” Gladiolus hisses from somewhere behind Noctis. Prompto still has his arm around Gladio's waist, which the Shield is grateful for, now that they're in the presence of the chancellor himself. His hand is protective around Prompto's body, but the chancellor pretends not to notice the hulking brute on his pretty boy's side.

“When next we meet, it'll be across the seas.” Ardyn responds, looking at Prompto, ignoring Gladiolus's disbelief. “Just so happens we have business of our own with the tutelary deity. Don't we?” He turns to Ravus as if he's expecting a response, but he doesn't need one. The high commander is turned away from him, unwilling to meet his gaze, weapon still poised at his side.

“Fare thee well, your Majesty, and safe travels.”

The chancellor turns to leave. He doesn't need to beckon for Ravus to follow. The sound of the silver-haired commander following close behind makes him smile, pleased with his obedience. Ardyn may not be very fond of the Fleuret, but he gives credit where credit is due. Ravus responds well without a leash. The fact that he stopped when he was told to stop might be appeasing, but Ravus went against his wishes still when he tried to incite violence against the prince.

Out of sight, but not out of mind. Ravus is still looking straight ahead with those dead eyes of his when Ardyn reaches over, placing his hand on the back of his neck, just under his hairline. He might not be gripping hard, but Ravus can feel his fingernails dancing over his bare neck, threatening to sink even deeper under his skin.

“I'm not very impressed with your behaviour this evening, Ravus.” Ardyn's tone is still reprimanding, no longer jovial with his tone.

Ravus doesn't tense under his touch. The chancellor is a man to be feared, but he's not earnestly expecting any punishment until he can feel his face pressed against the cement wall hard. Ardyn used the hand on his neck to steer his face into the solid structure, his nose smacking off the stone with a noise of pain before the chancellor's hand is sealed over his mouth.

“You guys... know that guy?” Prompto's voice is obscured by the distance, but Ardyn can hear the barely contained awe in his voice as clear as a bell.

“Ravus Nox Fleuret. First son of Tanabrae... and elder brother to Lady Lunafreya.” Ignis states factually. The chancellor doesn't need to see Noctis to know that he's enraged, set aflame by the short confrontation ending in retreat.

A retreat that Ravus just had to force, provoking Ardyn's appearance well before he intended their next meeting. Lunafreya is probably in Altissia right now, asking for the Hydreon's guidance, and no one is there to _assist_ her.

It's a punishment he'll deal them both for wasting his precious time. A kindness he'll bestow upon his dearest Luna for all her hard work.

The Regalia pulls away from the imperial base so quickly, someone could've assumed it was a race car. Noctis is so eager to get from inside the stronghold's confining walls, he doesn't notice Ardyn pinning Ravus to the wall with his weight, keeping his mouth clamped shut with a single hand wrapped around his mouth from behind.

Ravus contemplates reaching behind himself and prying the chancellor off him with brute strength, but Ardyn seems to know his plan already. His mouth lingers close to his ear, but his voice is as smooth as a nightmare, compelling him to stay perfectly still with his hand stopping short of his sword.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you. You're welcome to try, but the punishment might be more than you can afford.” Ardyn's thumb grazes over his cheek in small strokes. It feels rough on Ravus's face, making his mouth pull into an even tighter frown underneath his hand. 

“I won't allow your idiocy to interfere with my plans, Ravus.” The chancellor is smiling, but there's nothing polite in his tone of voice. “If you think of doing something like that again, I might not be as accommodating next time, hmm?”

Ravus exhales through his nose, replying without use of his mouth. It's not the sound that Ardyn wants to hear. The hand gripping the back of his neck moves up, fisting through his hair, tugging his head back before reeling it into the wall of the imperial base with a hard slam. Ravus can hear something crack, sending pain shooting through his jaw and over one side of his face. 

“I still have use for you.” Ardyn has something in his voice that makes Ravus think of himself as something disposable. If Ravus had an uncomfortable feeling about Ardyn before, this confirms his suspicions in stone.

“We're making a stop in Lestallum.” The chancellor speaks soothingly into his ear, a juxtaposition between the slamming of his face against the wall moments before. “And then we're paying a visit to your darling little sister in Altissia. Wouldn't you like that, Ravus?”

Ravus is silent. He has no choice in the matter. Eventually, he nods his head, which earns him slack in the hand held tight over his mouth. Ardyn appears pleased with that answer, but he continues to lean his weight into the man trapped underneath him, reminding him incessantly of his presence.

“And remember. I won't tell the empire if you don't.” The chancellor winks. Long before Ravus has a chance to reply, Ardyn's presence is gone, leaving nothing but a memory and a command in his wake.

*

“So, help me figure this out. That was... Luna's brother?” Prompto asks, directing his question towards the backseat. 

“The High Commander himself. Wartime makes for quick promotions.” Ignis pushes the bridge of his glasses up his face.

“Even a son of Tanabrae can rise to the top.” Gladiolus isn't happy with that revelation in mind.

“But why would he want to lead their army?” Prompto questions aloud. What he doesn't know is that it's a question that betrays Ravus's entire motive, an inquiry that Ignis continues to muse over long after its been posed.

“Who cares?” Noctis replies, sick and tired of conversation already. The entire encounter left a bad taste in his mouth, reminding him all too well of his betrothed and her brother's betrayal. 

“Certainly formidable enough on his own.” Ignis contemplates. 

Prompto shrinks back in his seat, feeling low after having Noct snap at him.

“If Ravus wants power, I'll give him a taste.” Noctis's knuckles are white where they grip the steering wheel, his foot pressing a little too hard on the gas pedal.

*

Iris looks up from where her hands lay over her face, catching the heavy tears that roll down her curved face like rain water.

“Oh, Gladdy.”

“What's wrong?”

“I let you down. I never made it to Caem. The empire came while you were gone...”

Gladio's sister exhales a shaky breath, her voice unsteady with the sound of her sobbing. Noctis takes a seat on the bed with all of his weight, preparing for whatever awful news awaited her next sentence. He feels like Ravus had something to do with causing the tears that rolled down Iris's face, a sight that leaves him drowning with empathy.

“None of us said a word about Noct. They just showed up and then... poor Jared.”

“What do you mean? What happened to Jared?” Gladiolus sounds more demanding than he intended, waiting for her to finish her reply despite knowing the answer already. He feels like he just needs to hear it for himself, out loud, to let the information sink in all the way.

“There was nothing we could do!” Iris snaps back, looking down at her feet, still wiping tears away from her pale cheeks.

The shouting drew Talcott closer. He had been waiting in the hallway for Iris to finish, but his little hand opens the door meekly, his sobbing quiet and heart wrenching. Though everyone turns to face the doorway, the hesitation is palpable, and Noctis is the one who rises from his seat to speak to the devastated boy while crouched to his level.

“It's... not right. We should've been here.” Noctis sounds just as devastated as Talcott looks. Ignis has to turn away, incapable of watching the interaction without feeling his heart grow heavier.

“I... I couldn't stop them.” Talcott chokes through heavy tears, blaming himself for Jared's death.

“I won't let the empire get away with it. They'll pay for what they've done.” Noctis promises, an oath he intends on taking to his grave, Gods and daemons be damned.

“I believe in you... prince Noctis.” 

Talcott is still sobbing as he retreats from the hallway, nearing the corridor downstairs. Noctis is hoping one of the bellhops will take care of him, watching him leave with a gut twisted in sadness.

“I'm taking Talcott, and we're going to Caem. We... we can't just stay here and do nothing.” Iris looks determined despite her eyes still red and puffy from her sobbing.

Gladiolus looks reserved. His mouth is still contorted into a deeply set frown, but his eyes are staring hard at the wall adjacent to his little sister, too lost in thought to respond.

“I understand.” Noctis sounds resigned, continuing to frown long after his friends have poured out of his room.

No-one intends on staying long. Prompto wants to shower as soon as possible, which Noctis decides has been the best idea so far, and Gladiolus insists on doting after his obviously distraught little sister. Ignis is the only one who stays after everyone departs, his hands feeling oddly empty without an ebony to sip on. Tension permeates the air like a bad smell, but now that he has a moment alone, leaving is harder than it usually is.

Ignis stands from his chair, clearing his throat, idling slowly as he draws closer towards the door. He's starting to think Noctis might want some alone time to think about things, judging by the silence, and the way the prince stares at his feet with a face of utter defeat.

“I'll be just across the hall, Noct.” Iggy's voice is soothing and tender. “If you need anything.”

Noctis doesn't reply. It takes every fibre of his being not to stop him right there and tell him to stay, but he doesn't want Ignis seeing him like this, beating himself up over something he couldn't of foreseen. It would just make Ignis feel bad, and in turn make him feel worse, a cycle of self-loathing and pity that he can't bring himself to handle right now.

As Ignis closes the door behind him, Noctis leans back over the bedspread, laying in one place while he stares at the ceiling and thinks about the sacrifices that he's made to be chosen.

*

Gladiolus is trying to insist that his sister spend the night with him when Prompto starts fumbling with the keycard to his door. He can't help but overhear their quiet exchange of words from a few feet down the hall, sneaking peeks at them while he searches for the lock to his bedroom.

“I'll be fine.” Iris caresses Gladiolus's cheek affectionately.

“Seriously. I'd much rather you stayed close.” Gladiolus tries to convince her otherwise, his hand resting atop the doorknob, already prepared to call it a night.

“No offence, Gladdy, but you're kind of smelly.” Iris smiles despite the pain. It's a trait that Prompto's always admired about her, in the few brief interactions they've had over the years. “Besides, I don't want to stay in a boys room. You always had this habit of leaving your socks on everything, it was kind of gross.”

Gladiolus laughs, pushing her shoulder gently. Iris looks genuinely happy for a minute, and just before Gladio is meeting Prompto's gaze, the blond laments how nice it must be to have family who care that much.

“Goodnight, shortstack. Clean that blood off your face while you're at it.”

Prompto blushes when he realizes he's been caught staring red-handed, stuttering on his words momentarily before he can manage to spit them out. Gladiolus is just about to step through his doorway when Prompto speaks, watching Iris retreat to her room and shut the door quietly behind her.

“C-- Can I stay instead?” Prompto questions, pausing when he realizes how it must sound coming from an outsider. “I mean-- not that I can replace your sister, or anything! But, well...”

Gladio freezes in the doorway, obvious hesitance in his massive stature. For a moment, Prompto thinks he's going to decline, but instead the shield mumbles an affirmative and leaves the door open behind himself. Gladiolus knows the blond doesn't want to be alone after everything that's happened. If he were being honest with his true feelings, he'd prefer Prompto under his watchful gaze anyway, somewhere close by where he can protect him should anything go awry.

Gladiolus is pulling his shirt over his head when he hears the door click behind him. He tosses it over the back of a chair pushed into a cheap looking table, turning when he feels eyes staring at his muscles from somewhere behind him.

Prompto is already looking away when Gladio turns around, obviously saving face. He almost seems innocent if the traces of dried blood on his face wasn't kind of badass looking, drawing attention away from his beautiful softness and instead to the grime left behind from the tussle in the cavern the day before.

God, has it really been days since Gladiolus has slept? The bed feels even softer than usual as the Shield slumps down on it, making the springs creak under his weight. What he wouldn't give for a shower right now. His eyelids feel heavy, threatening to put him to sleep without letting him bathe first. 

Like he read his mind, Prompto pipes up from the bathroom he wandered into, humming a song Gladiolus is sure he's heard on the radio at some point.

“We can shower together if you're real tired.” Prompto is making an active attempt at lightening the heavy mood, but the suggestion goes straight to Gladiolus's cock and makes his face feel warm.

“I mean, it's not that different from bathing in the lake, right?” Prompto is pulling his clothes off his body, leaving them bunched on the bathroom floor. He's not too sure he can salvage them anyway with all the bloodstains. “Except maybe less grody. And the hotel has these little shampoo things that smell really good and are super tempting to steal.”

While Prompto rambles on to fill the silence, he doesn't notice Gladiolus making an appearance in the bathroom until the man speaks. Prompto jumps with surprise when his voice is directly behind him, but when he reels around to look at him, watching Gladiolus start unbuckling the belt around his waist just makes his face feel hot with embarrassment.

“Jeez, you scared me! You're quieter than you look, you know.” Prompto laughs off his fright, turning away to take off his pants without putting on a show.

“What's that supposed to mean.” Gladiolus's eyebrows raise with curiosity.

“Dude. You're a behemoth.” Prompto states it like a fact, staring at Gladio dumbly like he doesn't seem to realize the obvious size differences. “If you had horns, they'd be worth a fortune.”

Gladiolus is amused by this, laughing out loud before he can help himself. It makes Prompto feel good to know that he's made the Shield laugh, the sound a sweet thing he feels like he could get used to. It's so distracting, he doesn't realize Gladiolus has stripped down to nothing until the water starts to run and the Crownsguard steps inside.

“You're right, those are super tempting to steal.” Gladiolus eyes the cute, tiny bottles of lavender scented shampoos on the shelf, turning towards Prompto when the blond enters the shower almost immediately after.

The space isn't as close as they have been, what with Gladio holding him once, back at the campsite a few weeks prior. Prompto isn't sure why this distance makes him feel nervous now, but Gladiolus is more than accommodating with the shower head, stepping out from under the cascade of water droplets to give Prom some room.

There's more blood on him than he'd thought. Black liquid slides off his body, pooling at his feet and running down the drain. It's icky and makes Prompto stick his tongue out with repulsion, but Gladiolus doesn't seem to mind how grimy he is, looking down at him with an emotion Prom can't describe. His expression is softened, but his eyes are cast downward, towards the smooth expanse of his chest and the sharp divot of his hips.

“Here.” Gladiolus offers. The air was starting to feel cold away from the running tap, so he steps under the running waterfall, seemingly unconcerned with the way Prompto fits against his chest.

Prompto is about to give him some room before he feels wet fingers start slinking through his hair, his fingertips grazing his scalp in a way that's a little tender for Gladio. It's not that he thinks the Shield isn't capable of exhibiting sweetness when he wants to-- he's witnessed it with his own eyes, to his lovers and his sisters and his Noctis-- but Gladiolus doesn't tend to spoil Prompto often. Or at all, now that he thinks about it.

Prom is almost about to ask what he's doing until lavender envelops his senses. He can see the rest of the Naga's blood wash away under the constant stream of water, worked out of his hair by Gladio's deft fingers. Gladiolus even seems to hum under his breath, meticulously cleaning the dirt and grime away. Prompto almost wants to offer him the same thing so he doesn't look selfish, but when he looks over Gladio's body, it occurs to him that he doesn't look half as bad as Prompto does. That's probably because Gladiolus wasn't the one the Naga had fixated on, slamming him to the ground more than once as it tried to incapacitate him long enough to eat him.

A sharp pain stabs through Prompto's head as Gladio's fingers graze over a sensitive spot. Prom didn't realize it was so painful until there's direct pressure on it, and when Gladiolus draws his fingers away, the blood on his hand isn't daemon. It falls away with the faucet, bright red mingling with dark as it slips away into the drain.

“Shit.” Gladio pauses, but soon he's using his fingers to move Prompto's hair away from the wound, trying to get a better look at the remnants of his concussion. “Shit, kid. I didn't think you were that hurt.”

“Who, me?” Prompto tries to play it off, shrugging away his concern. “Nah, I'm fine, see? I'd do a little dance for you if I wouldn't break my neck.”

Gladiolus isn't amused, his lips pulled into the same disgruntled expression he wears when Noctis tries to get under his skin.

“This isn't funny. Turn around.”

Prompto mutters an obedient “yes, sir” instead of protesting. He knows better than to try otherwise, turning to face the shower wall, giving Gladiolus a glimpse at the rest of his body. Gladio isn't happy about the state of his back either, which Prompto gauges from the sound of displeasure he makes as eyes scope over his back. Prom can almost feel his gaze sinking over his spine, taking all of him in without obstruction.

The moments pass in silence. Prompto almost starts to feel scrutinized and uncomfortable until the water stops running, cutting his shower a little shorter than he's used to.

“Come on.” Gladiolus's hand is firm on his waist, guiding him step by step out of the shower.

The Shield is kind enough to wrap a plain white towel around Prompto's waist himself. He doesn't wait to hear Prompto's insistence that he can take care of himself, moving him from the steamy bathroom and into the stale air of their hotel room. Gladiolus is just happy that Ignis and Noctis aren't around to tease him for his diligence, even if Prom looks a little confused to be lead around and sat down on the hotel's starchy sheets without explanation.

Gladiolus doesn't tell him for good reason. He takes a seat behind where Prompto sits, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder and keep him from turning around. It's not until Prom feels the sharp sting of healing salve on the scraped flesh of his back that he realizes what Gladiolus is doing, yelping a loud “oh fuck!” before he clamps his mouth shut tightly.

“I didn't know you had that kind of vocabulary in you, shortcake.” Gladio snickers while Prompto digs his fingers into the covers hard, twisting the fabric around in his grasp.

“Oh, ha ha, you're so hilarious.” 

Gladio doesn't need to see Prompto's face to know that he's pouting. The wounds on his back start looking healthier mere moments after applying his health potion directly to his tender skin, shifting from an angry inflamed red to a soft pink. Gladiolus is liberal with his medication, slathering every cut and scrape with his fingertips.

Prompto feels worse when Gladiolus laughs at him, even if it's not a malicious sound. The Shield's hands aren't the most careful when it comes to delicate procedures like this one, but something tells him he wouldn't trust Prompto to tell Ignis either. He feels like a bother when he pesters his friends for needless things like that. Prompto barely felt any pain until Gladiolus went touching his fingers all over the place anyway, so really, it's his fault.

“You can lie down if you think it'll help, y'know.” Gladiolus speaks as though he's talking more to himself than he is Prompto. Though his fingers stop moving momentarily, it isn't until Prompto whines another curse that he decides it might be the best course of action. He wouldn't want someone walking in on him like this, being a baby about getting his wounds cleaned.

Prompto lies face-down on the covers, obviously succumbing to his fate. There's no telling Gladiolus otherwise when the guy gets an idea in his head, especially when it comes to aiding his comrades. Gladio was the one who slid down that fifty foot drop for Noctis. He was the one who held the Titan back when it started tearing the place apart, allowing Noct to escape while his fate was uncertain. At the very least, thinking about those things keeps his mind off the sharp sting in his back that renews with every gentle touch.

Gladio is finding amusement in Prompto's pain. Every “shit” or “Ifrit's balls” Prompto muffles into the bedspread makes him smile despite himself, unused to hearing such foul language on the cute blond's lips. What doesn't help is the squirming, drawing attention over the slope of his back and towards the towel starting to ride up his thighs.

“Stop moving. I'll be done in a sec.” He tries to be chastising, just barely managing a straight face despite the commanding tone he tries to set.

“I can't help it.” Prompto groans exasperatedly into the blankets. “It's not my fault you have the hands of a mountain hermit.”

Gladiolus is tempted to press harder at one of his cuts, but he refrains when Prompto seems to ease once he's not touching him for a few seconds. The wounds that adorned his back from his tumble into the cave look better already, the scrapes left behind starting to heal over, aided by the fast acting health potion Gladio already had prepared. The last thing to go is his concussion, which Gladio tries to get over with fast when the blond writhes in pain underneath him.

Prompto tries to pull away, but he's too slow. Gladiolus is already done, but Prom feels like he's getting a headache anyway, the palms of his hands stopping short of touching his head wound directly.

“Now I know how Noctis must feel.” Prompto mutters bitterly into the blankets below, complaining under his breath in the hopes that Gladiolus wouldn't hear him.

“Hey.” Gladiolus isn't shy about smacking his ass hard, his eyebrows knit with exasperation. “I do it for his own good. I did it for your own good. Got it?”

Prompto yelps a second time, but it drones off into a quiet moan that Gladiolus can just barely hear over the blanket his face is buried in. It makes the gunman stop short, freezing in place, every inch of his body tensing up with realization. The room is quiet for a few seconds before Gladio responds, blinking rapidly as it starts to settle in.

“Did you just--”

“No.” Prompto responds hastily. “No. Nope. No.”

Gladio squints, watching the blond shift with discomfort, his face still buried in the lemon scented sheets. Unfortunately for Prompto, he can see where the tips of his ears burn red with embarrassment, giving away the expression he knows is written all over Prom's face. 

The silence is so thick, the gunman contemplates making a break for it. He can feel eyes on his back still, and the stinging feeling is starting to subside to a dull throb. Prompto wonders if Gladiolus would be willing to pretend it never happened, until he can feel the Shield's hand on his leg, his fingertips tracing absent circles over the soft skin of his inner thigh. It's such a gentle motion, Prompto isn't even sure he feels it at first, sighing a soft sound into the covers that obscure his face.

Gladiolus doesn't stop despite the silence on Prompto's part. He's actually thankful he doesn't, because it feels so good his muscles start to unwind. Tension ebbs away from his frame in waves, sinking into the atmosphere Gladiolus creates with his charisma. It's so comforting, it draws his attention from the waking world, his eyes already closed and his mind threatening to shut off and let him dream. He didn't even realize it'd been over 24 hours since their last night of solid sleep, but Gladio's tender ministrations are a keen reminder of the deprivation that plagues them both.

Prompto hums another quiet noise that get swallowed by the blanket under his face. It alternates to a short whine when Gladiolus shifts the rest of his towel up, spreading his ass open with his hands and licking hard over his hole. His eyes flicker open, head turned to the side so he can speak clearly. The moment he opens his mouth to question what he's doing, Gladio is forcing his tongue up inside him, choking off the words in his throat before he can start with a syllable.

“Wait.” Prompto starts, his face feeling hotter than it ever has before. It feels insanely good-- better than it has any right to, in fact-- but Gladiolus is eating him out and his self-consciousness starts to pique when the Shield has his face buried in his ass.

His protest dies with another loud, high-pitched whine. Gladiolus starts licking him from the inside, and his thoughts fizzle into static. Prompto turns his face back into the sheets, his back arching like a bowstring, though his attempts at keeping quiet are laid to rest when Gladio pushes the tip of his tongue against his prostate and forces his ass back even tighter against his mouth.

Prompto all but screams his name, repeating it over as he begs him for something. The bed sheets happen to catch a majority of his drool when he finds it hard to swallow, but his cock is hard and grinds against the cotton covers underneath his waist when Gladio starts to fuck his hole with his tongue. Prompto's knees dig into the mattress where he tries to brace himself, but he spreads his legs wider as he allows his reflex to take over, distraught when he feels the Shield stop touching him for just a few seconds.

“Why'd you stop?” Prompto's eyebrows are furrowed, his cheek still pressed against the bedspread where he turns his head. 

“Don't complain.” Gladiolus tries to make it sound like he knows what he's doing, but it's hard to pace himself when everything Prompto does makes him almost unbearably hard. His cock is mad at him for the severe lack of attention he's giving himself, but Prompto seems just as happy when he replaces his tongue with salve soaked fingers.

Prompto's turning his face back into the covers one more time as Gladiolus fucks him with his hand. His fingers curl upwards slightly, rubbing the walls of his ass over carefully, prying him open deeper and wider than his tongue was. He can feel him try to spread them apart, doing his best to prepare his little ass for something much bigger.

The blond doesn't even seem to realize what he's doing, laying back and trying to enjoy the ride. There's a little bit of discomfort as he feels Gladiolus try to stretch his ass open even wider, but as he fucks three fingers back into his hole, Prompto's admittedly feeling pretty good. His fingertips drag over his prostate continuously, making him clench down hard every time his cock throbs with need.

Prompto's about to start complaining even louder when Gladio drags his fingers away, not happy with being edged mercilessly, desperate to get off at this point. Thankfully, his complaints are cut short when Gladiolus tells him to turn around, wanting nothing more than to see his face as he pounds him out into the hotel bed.

He turns lazily, rolling onto his back, his towel already fallen loose under his waist. It's convenient when spit and lube drips out of his ass, pouring out of his hole when his hips aren't arched back towards Gladdy's face. Prompto's eyes are half-lidded, heavy with his sleepy demeanour, his cheeks dusted red with satisfaction and embarrassment at the same time. Gladiolus pauses, taking in the way he looks when he's hard and desperate.

“You wanna take a picture, big guy? It'll last longer.” Prompto feels put on the spot when Gladiolus stares at him silently like that. He's not sure if he's examining every little imperfection, or if he's admiring the goods. Prompto's scared it's the former.

“In a minute.” Gladiolus pries Prompto's thighs apart with his hands. He mutters something like “I want to savour this” as he finally sinks his cock in his tight little ass, taking his sweet old time as Prompto cries out sharply from under him.

Prom's hands grip his shoulders hard enough to bruise, but Gladiolus finds that he likes it when the gunman holds onto him like a lifeline. His thighs tremble hard as he takes his cock inch by inch, feeling his ass split wide open as Gladio fucks him deep and slow. The noises he makes goes from sharp gasping to desperate sobbing as Gladiolus bottoms out, buried to the hilt after a few moments that feel more like hours.

“Look at you. What a trooper.” Gladiolus sounds tender and adoring when he praises him, making Prompto's tummy feel warm with recognition. It makes him feel good to know that Gladiolus feels good, basking in the glow of his private admiration.

It's what compels him to keep taking it as Gladiolus pulls out of his ass, leaving him feeling emptier than he'd like to be. He doesn't have any time to lament the loss before Gladio is fucking him slowly, though every time he's burying himself deep in his little opening, Prompto's back arches while a short wail slips past his lips. It might even be a little funny if Gladiolus didn't find it unbelievably hot, making his cock throb hard where he's already buried base deep in his ass.

“Just like that.” Gladiolus approves, watching his body contort when he fucks his hips forward. When his calloused hand grips Prompto's soft thighs from underneath and pries them apart, the head of his cock slides against his prostate, making him cry with absolute bliss while his fingers dig into Gladio's shoulders for some stability.

“Right there!” Prompto sounds unwound, happy tears streaming from the corners of his eyes and down the sides of his face. “Oh, gods, fuck me!” His pleading hitches between groans, grinding his hips back hard into the cock still fucking out his ass.

Gladiolus doesn't need permission twice. He leans forward at the waist, enveloping Prompto's mouth in soft kisses while his lower half reams his little hole open. It's hard to maintain those gentle smooches when Prompto sobs every time Gladiolus splits him in half, pounding out his sweet spot every time he canters his hips forward. Prom's face is flushed red, but he looks pleased, watching the way Gladio peers over his features with admiration as he fucking ruins his lower half.

Prompto tightens down hard when his cock spills cum over his own lower abdomen, coming to a climax without having to touch himself. It's the first time that's ever happened, but he doesn't seem to care about the mess it leaves, his face softening with ecstasy as his orgasm makes every inch of him feel good. Gladiolus continues to pound his ass even after he's done, filling him up after a few more seconds of ruthless fucking. Having his cum nice and deep in his oversensitive hole makes him feel warm, though it's a different warm compared to the praise Gladiolus was giving him.

They're both still catching their breath as Gladiolus pulls out of his used little ass, drenched with salve and cum indiscriminately. His cock still feels like its throbbing from the intensity of that orgasm, and Prompto looks utterly beautiful, fucked open hard and staring tiredly at Gladio's face as he tries to lean in for one more kiss.

Prompto opens his mouth this time, letting Gladio slide his tongue past his lips. Gladiolus seems like the kind of guy who likes to take his time, which Prompto evaluates when the kiss starts to linger, the seconds passing by as Gladio's tongue licks over the roof of his mouth. It feels good, but so does the rest of him, and it's not a promising fact when he's trying to evade sleep.

Gladio tries his best to clean up his lower half with the towel under Prom's waist. He's unconcerned with dressing, fatigue starting to rest in his muscles, a reminder of the force he put into fucking the cute little blond boy in his arms. Judging from the look on Prompto's face, he realizes it'd be best if he put him to sleep sooner rather than later, despite wanting to lie still with him for a few more hours. It'll have to wait.

Prompto feels himself get lifted from the bedspread a little too easily. Gladio's arms make him feel safe, engulfed in warmth and the sweet smell of lavender. The covers feel a little too comfortable as they shift up over his naked body, and Gladiolus feels a little too comfortable being pressed against his back as his arms slide around his waist, but when sleep comes to claim him Prompto doesn't try to evade it.

*

In his dreams, Noctis can't save Pryna. 

He tries to take her lifeless body in his hands, and the floor crumbles out from underneath him.

An omen of times that have passed, and times that have yet to come.

Noctis wakes with a start from where he tosses and turns on the hard hotel bed. He's still in the same position he was left in hours before, his pillows and bedspread both unmoved despite his tumultuous sleep. The lights have already been turned off, and the moon casts an eerie glow over the wooden floorboards of his bedroom.

He rises groggily, sleep still weighing heavy on his mind. The sleep felt more like a cat nap, his feet moving like lead as he scuffles across his bedroom.

Noctis is quiet as he steps out into the hallway. The door clicks almost soundlessly behind himself before he moves his socked feet across the short distance to the adjacent door, his hand pausing mid-knock when he realizes that Ignis is probably fast asleep already. Really, he shouldn't be bothering him about something like this in the first place, but he really doesn't want to be alone right now.

His suspicions are confirmed as he opens the doorway with a quiet creaking sound. Ignis has his back turned towards the opposite wall, but Noctis can see his chest rise and fall with every steady intake of breath. Noctis almost feels bad for impeding on his personal space unbeknownst to the tactician, but he forces himself to close and lock the door behind himself regardless of predisposed guilt.

Noct tries to crawl into bed as soundless as he can, but the mattress springs creek with his movement. His heart nearly leaps up into his throat as Ignis turns abruptly, waking from his light slumber almost immediately when he feels the bed beside him start to move with foreign intrusion.

Ignis's expression softens immediately as Noctis comes more clearly into view, his eyes adjusting completely to the dark. He pauses, dreary from sleep, before shifting over on the mattress to give him more room.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Iggy's voice sounds raspy, clearly having just awoke.

“Go to bed, Specs.” Noctis whispers back.

Ignis may stop questioning his well-being, but he doesn't fall back to sleep just yet. Instead, one of his arms slides comfortably around Noct's waist, drawing him in even closer to his chest. Noctis can hear his heart beating through the thin layer of his pyjama shirt, lulling him towards peaceful slumber like a lullaby. The tactician is still rubbing his back tenderly long after the prince has fallen asleep, comforted in the one place he can ever truly feel safe.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a brief intermission that is just jam packed with foreshadowing but its also super gay so you should probably just skip over this

__

_And who decides from where up high_

_I couldn't say I need more time_

_Grant that I can stay the night_

_Or one more day inside this life_

* 

Ignis wakes, predictably, just moments before breaking daylight. Noctis is still in his arms, a warm presence nestled up against his chest, and Ignis feels his heart skip a few beats. Noctis mumbles quietly in his sleep a few times, but doesn't stir, despite Ignis watching him with fondness. A few times he considers peppering his collarbone with kisses just for the sake of it, but he doesn't want to wake Noctis and ruin this very moment. It's like a private sentiment all for him, that Ignis drains away and keeps for later in the recesses of his thoughts.

It'll be a good memory to have, when all of this fades away.

Once or twice, Ignis's lips find his forehead. His kisses aren't hard enough to rouse him from his sleep, but Noctis was so tired last night, Ignis disentangles his limbs from the sleeping prince without a lot of hassle. Normally Noctis wouldn't be very happy to lose out on excess heat, but he's so sleepy that he barely moves when Ignis shifts out from underneath him.

Naturally, Ignis wants to whip open the curtains and let daylight wake Noctis without his aid. It's the image of Noctis's face on the bed the day before that stops him. It's not a treat he'll bestow upon his king all the time, but he'll let him sleep in for a few hours, just this once. The prince has been having it hard the past few days. The extra rest would probably put him in a better mood.

Ignis is surprised to see Gladiolus already awake, standing in front of his open door, wearing a fluffy pink robe he snagged from the hotel bathroom. 

“Morning.” Iggy's voice is imposing, breaking Gladiolus out of his daydreams.

“Mornin'.” Gladio turns around to face him, following Ignis's gaze towards the open crack in his door.

Prompto is still asleep, his back turned away from the doorway. His lower half is still concealed by the blanket he's tucked under, but from where Ignis can see, his upper half is naked and his hair is a barely contained mess. It makes Ignis's eyebrows raise with realization when he notices the absence of a second bed, but Gladiolus clears his throat, shutting the door with a quiet click and a face redder than Leidan Pepper.

“You didn't see that.” Gladiolus mumbles under his breath, averting his eyes away from Ignis's stare.

“I can assure you I did. Crystal clear, in fact. Breakfast?”

Ignis's amusement doesn't make Gladio any less embarrassed. The teasing lilt to his voice makes him feel even more red, his face hot and the robe suddenly too stifling.

“Meet you in yours?”

“I'm afraid we'll have to regroup in Noct's.” Ignis's mouth contorts into a straight line.

Ignis doesn't have to tell him for Gladiolus to know that he has _company_. Gladio might be muscles and might, but he's certainly not stupid. The corners of his lips stretch up into a disconcerting smile as the pieces start to fall together, and Ignis can still hear him laughing after he's left the hotel.

By the time Ignis is back with takeout, Gladiolus is dressed in his casual wear, sprawled out comfortably in a chair out on the balcony. He's leaned forward with his arms propped up on the table, overlooking the flower-laden fence as though he were searching for a particular face in the crowd. The Shield doesn't turn around when Ignis drops food on his table, daydreaming again.

Iggy doesn't disturb him, opening an ebony, leaning back in his chair with his long legs stretched out. The sunlight feels good on his face, and the cluster of buildings eliminates windchill. It's stifling and claustrophobic on bad days, but in the morning, up here on the hotel's balcony, it's almost picturesque. Prompto would probably love a photo from this angle. Would he lean over the railing to get a closer look, with Gladio's arms around his waist in a sweet embrace? Or would he want to take a picture of them here, just as they are, illuminated in the glow of the rising sun?

“How much sleep did you get last night?” Gladio picks at his food with his fingers, still looking at everything except Ignis.

“Enough.”

“I know you well enough to know “enough” is not enough.” Gladio sounds astute in a way that makes Ignis smile.

Now that he thinks about it, he can't quite remember closing his eyes. It seemed like one moment he was looking at the wall across the room from the mattress they shared, caressing him tenderly in the dark, and the next he was opening his eyes to an alarm that glared “6:21 A.M.” like a warning. The days and nights all seem to blend together anyway, so he can't honestly tell him when he fell asleep in the first place.

“You can have Prom tonight.” Gladio makes it sound as simple as trading clothes. “I'll take Princess off your hands for a few hours.”

“That won't be necessary.” Ignis takes an audible sip from his ebony, peering at him over the edge of his glass.

Gladiolus looks at him with the same unimpressed expression he uses when Noctis won't eat his vegetables. His arms fold across his chest rather than across the table, eyeing him up carefully in a way that might've been intimidating if Ignis didn't already know him. Know him well enough to know he cries over moving poetry, at least.

“I can see the bags under your eyes from here. Let me guess: he crawled into your bed insanely late, batted his big blue doe-eyes at you, and then you caved and spent the night watching him sleep like you always do.”

Gladiolus's tone sounds accusatory. Ignis's heart sinks into his stomach, but not because he's being reprimanded by his king's shield. The fact that Gladio seems to notice his lingering touches, the way his eyes rest on Noct's body a little too long, the subtle changes in tone that he takes when it comes to the king-- there's no way Gladiolus doesn't know. Ignis doesn't understand why this idea scares him so much, but Gladio can tell by the tensing in Ignis's shoulders that it's a fact he wasn't ready to come to terms with yet.

“It wasn't like that.” Ignis chimes back with defence. He almost anticipates Gladiolus arguing otherwise, but instead the Shield looks at him from over his food, examining his face carefully under the light of the now risen sun. “Just some nightmares, that's all.”

“So you babied him.” Gladiolus says it factually, seeing through him near immediately. “I promise I won't kill the kid. You haven't gotten an easy night's sleep since...” He lets his sentence taper off.

Since you told me I couldn't protect him forever, Ignis fills in the blanks silently.

“I don't think Noctis will take this decision lightly.” Iggy warns, but Gladio smiles knowingly, pleased his pressure made the tactician crack yet again.

“I'll handle that. Don't you worry. Prom'll take good care of you.”

The idea of Prompto taking care of anyone is almost laughable. Ignis barely conceals his smile behind the edge of his ebony, looking out over the flowers and onto the ground below.

“Like he took good care of you last night, I presume?”

Ignis doesn't have to see him to know that Gladiolus is burning with embarrassment for a second time this morning. When he leans forward to start picking at his breakfast, Gladio appears to be zoning out into the skyline, lost in his thoughts with an atmosphere of serenity. 

“If he does, who am I to judge.” Gladiolus punctuates his sentence by stuffing food in his mouth. It's Ignis's turn to almost choke on his drink, caught off guard by his almost blatant admittance to fucking Prompto the night before.

The silence is palpable. Ignis isn't sure how to fill it, chugging back more ebony to avoid coughing. Gladio seems preoccupied with trying to eat as much as he can in as little time as possible, and Iggy's impressed by his ability to inhale his food without needing the Heimlich manoeuvre. 

“Ignis.” Gladiolus wipes his mouth off on a napkin, tossing it onto his empty plate.

Ignis hadn't realized he'd been staring until Gladio brings it to his attention. He clears his throat, sitting up a little more posture perfect, setting his drink on the table.

“I think I love him.”

Gladiolus watches him expectantly, trying to discern the emotions on Iggy's face. Ignis doesn't appear surprised, but on the inside, he's conflicted. It'd be hypocritical of him to ward him against developing emotions for members of the Crownsguard, but it'd be foolish to push him toward it. Noctis is supposed to be the number one priority, and feelings that could impose on that are dangerous, plain and simple. He knows Gladiolus is smart enough to know what it could imply. Should it come down to it, Noctis is the one he'll have to save, each and every time.

“Love is a very strong word, Gladio.” 

“I know.” Gladiolus puts his face in his hands. “I know.”

“Am I interrupting?” 

From the doorway, Prompto rubs his sleepy eyes with his fingers. He's already dressed and ready to explore, though the paleness in his face betrays how tired he really is. Gladiolus looks like he almost jumps out of his seat, picking his head up and swivelling around to look at the blond in Noct's hotel room. There's nothing in his expression that says he heard their prior conversation, and Gladio tosses a grateful look towards Ignis when he thinks of a quick excuse.

“Not at all. Gladiolus ate something spicy. Why don't you join us?” Ignis smiles at the boy idling in the doorframe, who looks happy to be invited, shuffling over meekly.

“Where's Noct?” Prompto questions inquisitively, looking back curiously at the already made bed.

“Yeah, Iggy. Where is Noctis.” Gladiolus smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

Ignis is just about ready to get up and wake him before his legs are being parted. The words stop short, caught in his throat before he can make out a syllable. Prompto had meandered over while he was distracted with Gladio's smirking, placing his hand on Ignis's shoulder, swinging his leg over and taking a seat in his lap.

The conversation they were having seconds before his entrance makes Ignis feel awkward, but Gladiolus doesn't seem phased by the sudden intimacy. Prompto's always been naturally touchy-feely, patting Noct and Gladio's ass on the regular and sprawling out over at least one of them in the tent, but that was before. Now that he knows Gladiolus might be falling in “love” with him, he's concerned this intimacy is bothering him, on an unspoken level that doesn't have to be said. 

On the contrary, Gladiolus is still looking at him with interest, his hand on his chin as he waits for an answer. Ignis almost wants to tell him that Noctis is showering, just so he won't accuse him of coddling him, but he bites back his pride and slips his arms around Prompto's waist from behind.

“Noctis is sleeping. I'm afraid our conversation ran a little long.” 

The way Ignis puts emphasis on “conversation” says everything. Gladiolus's commentary is cut short before it ever began, and instead of staring so intensely at Ignis, he redirects his gaze over the balcony again.

“Hmmm, I don't know. It kind of sounds like I'm interrupting something.” Prompto hums contemplatively, leaning back against Ignis's chest.

“No.” Ignis and Gladio respond at the same time, a little more hasty than necessary. It makes Prompto's eyebrows raise with curiosity, but he doesn't probe any further.

“How about I go wake up Noctis?” Prom suggests. Before he can think of getting up, Gladiolus is pulling his chair out from the table, smiling knowingly at Ignis as he waives off the suggestion.

“How about I go wake up His Highness, and you eat before we head to the outpost.”

Gladiolus hadn't asked Ignis about these plans beforehand, which sets Iggy on edge. Prompto can feel the advisor shift underneath him, tensing physically as his arms hold more securely around his middle.

“I don't believe we've discussed anything of the sort—”

“Not you, Specs.” Gladiolus rolls his eyes like it should be obvious, which makes Ignis squint at him from behind Prompto's shoulder. “Noct is beating himself up about Jared. Let him mourn with you for a while. We'll be back before 8, and the Regalia will be in even better condition than you left it.”

Ignis hadn't considered that they'd be taking the car for this unplanned excursion, but just as he's about to start protesting, Prompto sits up a little straighter in his lap. Ignis can feel him practically bursting with excitement as the blond leans forward, his hands on Iggy's knees and his eyes alight with joy.

“The Regalia? We're taking the Regalia?

Gladiolus smiles at Ignis like he knows exactly what he's thinking. His expression is amused, his hand gesturing between them with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

“The kid wants the Regalia, Ignis.”

Ignis sighs, loud and heavy, right next to Prompto's ear.

“You'll be back before 8. That's eight, sharp. I won't tolerate tardiness.”

“Yes Mama Ignis.” Prompto chirps. Gladiolus snorts from where he's already making his way out the door, leaving Ignis alone with Prompto for a few moments while he tries to rouse the sleeping prince.

Ignis slides an unopened box of takeout towards Prom wordlessly, who hums an appreciative “thanks”. The tactician moves his arms away from his waist so he can slide forward, but it doesn't satisfy Prompto's need for affection this morning, who politely asks him to tuck in his chair a little closer so Prom can lean against his torso.

Iggy is just about to suggest he find a seat on the bed instead when Prompto is sighing, relaxing into his arms like melting stress after a long day. He doesn't seem to notice whatever tension is starting to manifest in Ignis's stomach, or at least, he's polite enough not to mention the way Ignis's shoulders square or his lips pull into a terse line.

“I'm awful sore today.” Prompto tries to start small talk, disquieted by the pensive silence that follows Gladio's absence.

“Yes, well. Gladio is almost twice your size.” Ignis says factually. Prompto has to swallow hard around the food in his throat, his face even redder than Gladio's was.

“He told you!?”

“On the contrary, I saw you.”

Prompto's mouth clamps shut upon this revelation. After a few seconds of peaceful silence, Prompto is shifting around on his lap, asking a quiet “how much did you see?”

It's hard not to laugh when Prompto's being cute. It's even harder not to tease him just a little, but the air is thick enough with unsaid words as it is. Ignis leans forward in his chair, not too far to knock him off his lap, but just enough to provide some of the affection the blond is trying so hard to receive. Iggy's grip tightens with a hug, and while he holds him for a few private moments, his lips kiss softly over the smooth expanse of his neck.

“Not much.” His voice is reassuring and quiet, like they might be overheard if he spoke too loud. He can feel Prompto sigh under his touches, relaxing almost immediately when he knows Ignis didn't see anything embarrassing. Like, that whole thing.

“I saw you this morning, when Gladiolus was leaving.” Come to think of it, he's not sure if Gladio got much sleep either last night. Ignis wonders if that's why he wanted to switch sleeping arrangements around, but he's not sure if Noctis even wants to be around anyone for a while. He's always been a very private crier. 

“Did you want to?” Prompto asks back just as quietly as Ignis speaks, shifting again in his lap, though Ignis senses it's not from discomfort.

“Did I want to what, exactly?”

“Did you want to see us?”

There's no time for Ignis to respond before the door is swinging open, announcing the Shield and his King's arrival. Gladiolus has Noct over his shoulder unceremoniously, his clothes dishevelled after what was obviously a minor scuffle. Ignis almost jumps when they come crashing into the bedroom, but Gladio seems to have the situation under control as he kicks the door closed behind him.

“Didn't want to get out of bed and enjoy this fine Lestallum air.” Gladiolus is obviously entertained with this whole thing, fighting Noctis's attempts at squirming out of his grip. Instead, the Shield tosses him to the bed, unhurt but bristling like a wet cat.

“He dragged me by my ankles.” Noctis tries to straighten out his shirt a little better, pushing messy hair away from his eyes.

“You were fully dressed and everything. It was the perfect crime. Didn't even have to open the blinds.” Gladiolus takes a seat back in his chair, seemingly unaware of the intimate moment they accidentally walked in on.

When he thinks about it, Ignis can't remember if Noctis was wearing pyjamas or not. It seems like something the chamberlain should have memory of, but something about the fact that it draws a blank in his mind unsettles him. 

Noctis moves his gaze towards Prompto, and for a split second, Ignis thinks he's about to say something snarky. The room goes quiet for a beat, and then two, before Noct settles on the foot of the bed with his arms folded tightly against his chest. Ignis almost feels bad until Gladio is tossing a box of food at Noct's lap, which seems to take his interest fast.

“Wipe that look off your face, sourpuss.” Gladio tosses him a fork, and Noctis tries not to look happy about it.

“Make me.” Noctis mutters under his breath, as low as a whisper.

“Ignis said we could take the Regalia for a little while.” Prompto seems excited to share the news with his best friend, but Noctis can't find it in himself to force a happy face. 

It's not that he doesn't want to, but making a smile feels forced. He feels like crawling back into that dark, empty room, slipping under the covers, slipping away from the reality of things for a few hours. Everything feels too normal. Iris is probably still sleeping in the room down the hall, blissfully unaware. Noctis knows better than to feel envious, but what he wouldn't give for just a few more hours of no thinking.

“A little while. Key phrase.” Ignis reminds gently, his hand patting Prompto's waist. “I suggest you don't waste them. An opportunity like this doesn't come often.” Or ever again, Ignis thinks, wondering just how much Cindy would charge them for repairs if they did something reckless.

“You ready?” Gladiolus looks eager to get out of there, and judging by the middle finger Noctis throws him, the prince is eager to see him leave.

“Let's blow this Popsicle stand!” Prompto sits up from Ignis's lap, and Iggy's almost disappointed to see him leave.

“Try not to drown in your own self-pity while we're gone.” Gladiolus teases Noctis as they walk by, allowing Prompto the lead.

“I hate everything about the person you choose to be.” Noctis states blandly.

“I love you too, puddin'.” Gladio mocks back, shutting the door behind him quickly before Noctis can throw his food.

“Must you be at arms this early.” Ignis sounds exasperated, but as Noctis looks up at his face, he can feel his breath catch in his throat when his piercing grey irises meet his gaze.

“If he's going to be an asshole, the answer is yes.”

“You are quite difficult to wake in the morning, Noct.” Ignis tries to be tender about it, but Noctis doesn't look happy either way.

“I'm difficult all around, aren't I?” Noctis tries to stuff food in his mouth to avoid having his voice break. He's tired and cranky and upset now that Ignis isn't taking his side without question. The normalcy they try to feign is nothing but an illusion, concealing all the truths that threaten to spill out of him. “You're just mad you don't have arm candy anymore.”

Ignis knows his words are just meant to hurt, but they cut a little deep, scratching just a little too close to the surface. The look on his face darkens as he tries to reign in his disgruntlement, trying to approach the conflict reasonably. Noctis is hurting, and that's the only thing that matters.

Noctis is immediately regretting his choice of words when he sees the way Ignis reacts. It's not an expression he's seen on Ignis's face in a very long time, if ever, and knowing he's the one who caused it fills him with inexplicable dread. The most he can do is mutter a quiet “sorry”, hoping Ignis can sense just how truly sorry he really is. 

“I accept your apology.” Ignis doesn't sound happy, and it makes Noct's gut twist. “If you wish to discuss what's on your mind, I'll remind you again, that's what I'm here for.”

There's too much to talk about, and most of it he doesn't feel comfortable sharing. Lunafreya is waiting for him somewhere with a bullseye on her back all because of him, when he promised to keep her safe. Ravus is on his way to collect her for the Imperial army, and for all he knows, he's already raced them there. Jared is dead because of his negligence, and his Father is dead because of his legacy. It all seems like the means to an end, but in truth, it's just the beginning. There are many miles to go. More to be sacrificed. One of those sacrifices might be his Crownsguard.

“There's nothing to say.” Noctis sounds unconvincing.

“Very well.” Ignis, still simmering over his commentary, takes a long swig of his ebony. 

“Ignis.”

“Yes, your Highness?”

“Are you upset about what happened at the campsite?”

The summer heat feels stifling all of a sudden. It closes in around him on all sides, compressing the air from his chest like a vice, making his ribs feel like a string pulled a little too taut. The conversation he's been avoiding is now out in the open because of Noctis, who asks him as easily as pulling off a band-aid. Ignis can feel the wound open. He has to turn away from his face, his defences starting to collapse in front of his moon.

“It was unprofessional of me.” Ignis starts, feeling the abrupt need for a long, cold shower. “It was wrong of me to put you in that position.”

“Ignis.” Noctis has a frown that makes the advisor's heart sink a little lower.

“You didn't put me in a 'position'.” Noctis's hands seem to twist in his lap, his breakfast now set aside completely. “I asked you for it, remember.”

The image of Noctis pleading 'help me' with his leg between his thighs comes to mind. It doesn't make his worries subside, his guilty conscience eating away at the rest of him, but he starts getting hard against his better judgments. This is an awful time to let his body start talking. He thought these days were behind him.

“I just thought... you've been acting so off since, I just assumed you were feeling... regret.”

Ignis does feel regret, for many reasons. His unspoken duty to the crown is tarnished. The woman he's fated to be with forever might never know of this discrepancy, but Ignis will, until his very last breath on this mortal plane. He'll carry it around like a blessing and a burden, the weight of his irrevocable love for a prince named night.

“It doesn't have to mean anything.” Noctis mutters so quietly, it's hard to hear in the deafening silence of his hotel room.

Ignis gets on his knees in front of Noctis's lap so silently, the shadow that he casts almost makes him jump. He kneels there like a worshipper to his altar, his heart heavy with veneration, a doubtless follower to Noct's religion. Ignis takes his hands so patiently, Noctis looks up to meet his unwavering gaze.

“You mean everything.” Ignis says it with such conviction, Noctis believes every word.

“Forgot my jacket--” Gladiolus stops short from where he's standing in the doorway, his hand still poised on the doorknob. Noctis turns to meet his gaze slowly, and Ignis rests his face in Noctis's lap while he burns with embarrassed shame.

“I'll come back later.” Gladio smiles, slamming the door closed behind him.

“Somehow, I don't think that's the last we'll hear of this.” Ignis sounds muffled.

“We'll just have to tease him about his crush on Aranea.”

Noctis states it so factually, Ignis can't help but laugh.

*

Prompto had no idea Gladiolus knew how to drive until now. Really, he should've had an inkling, given that they've known each other for almost five years now, but watching him get behind the wheel and actually start putting the pedal to the metal was kind of awesome. Gladio is a careful driver, but he likes to keep 10 miles over the speed limit, which is a whole lot more than Ignis would ever allow in the Regalia.

Gladiolus likes watching the way the wind moves Prompto's hair away from his face. The gold in his hair and his skin makes him look sparkling under the rising sun, and Gladio feels like calling him “sunshine boy” might've been the accurate nickname they have. 

Prompto's just enjoying the way the breeze feels on his skin, leaning out of the Regalia to get a closer look at the trees that blur by. Once or twice, Gladiolus will reach out and take his belt in his hands, though Prompto suspects it's not so much to keep him safe as it is to touch his ass. The thought makes him red in the face, but he's glad that Gladiolus doesn't tease him about it for too long.

“So... have you noticed how weird Iggy's been lately, or is it just me?” Prompto pops the bubble so bluntly, Gladiolus is a little surprised it's the first topic of conversation that he can think of. It'd make sense. They rarely have time to talk privately like this, so Gladio's willing to entertain his gossiping for a few minutes.

“It's not just you.” Gladiolus isn't sure how much sharing is too much, but Prompto's part of the group too, and keeping information from him just feels wrong. “He hasn't been sleeping very good lately.”

“I think he might not be getting along with Noctis.” Prompto shares his observation carefully, like he's treading a fine line when it comes to discussing Ignis behind his back.

“They were getting along just fine when I went back up.” Gladiolus chuckles, mostly to himself.

“You mean... they were...” dawning realization settles on Prompto's face after a few moments of careful deliberation. “Oh. Ohhhhh.”

“Don't tell me you're jealous.” Gladiolus teases. One part of him kind of wants to know if he feels rejected because of this, but nothing in Prompto's demeanour suggests jealousy or envy at all.

“Who, me? Never!” Prompto smiles teasingly from the passenger's seat. “What about you, big guy? Are you green with envy over there?”

“Me?” Gladiolus replies with a teasing lilt to his tone. He almost wants to reply with something like “not while you're here with me”, but he decides it'd be just a little too heavy for his own comfort.

“I think Specs needs the time off.” 

The way he says “time off” makes heat blossom over Prompto's lower abdomen, and the blond isn't quite sure why. Maybe it's the way he said it or what he implied, but the blond tries to play it off casually, laughing a little in the hopes that he won't notice how turned on he is by the idea.

“Right! That's what I was saying. Between you and me,” Prompto leans in like a secret shared between the two of them, and Gladiolus can feel the warmth his body radiates up against his side when he leans over the gearshift. “I think he wants to watch.”

Gladiolus has to steel his grip on the wheel to keep from swerving into oncoming traffic. Prompto notices the way his knuckles turn white and his shoulders tense, blinking curiously as he tries to discern the emotions that filter across his face. There's nothing that suggests anger, but Prompto feels like it might've been the wrong thing to say, until Gladiolus is asking questions about it for himself.

“How do you know?”

“I brought it up.”

“You brought it up? You mean, you asked him if he wanted to watch?”

“Yeah, was... was that wrong?”

Gladiolus's foot eases off the gas, slowing down so gradually, Prompto isn't sure he notices it at first. Gladio's hands are still white where they're wrapped around the steering wheel, the only thing Prompto can determine about how he's feeling.

“What did he say? After you asked?” Gladiolus probes on. Prompto hums like he's not sure if he should answer, sitting a little straighter in his seat.

“You two came in before he could answer. But, uh, he started getting...” Prompto stops short before he can say something explicit, deciding on the word “excited” instead.

Gladiolus slows down enough that he can pull off onto the lush green grass, and Prompto starts to wonder if maybe he's done something wrong. He unbuckles his seat-belt so he can turn his body more comfortably to the side, still fretting away in his seat. Gladio reaches underneath his chair to move the driver's seat back, far enough away from the wheel that Prompto can hear it when it bumps off the backseat. 

“Come here.” Gladio phrases his request like a command, and Prompto treats it like one. His nervousness is swallowed up back inside his chest for the time being, and he tries to slide over his seat so he can straddle the one Gladio's sitting in, almost knocking the gearshift with his foot in the process.

Gladio's hands are under his shirt immediately, hot to the touch and still oddly pleasant. His kisses are deep over Prompto's mouth as he leans in to steal them, one by one, leaning into them so forcefully he almost knocks into the horn with his ass. Prom's still a little taken off guard with his hastiness, his lips moving just a little slower than Gladio's does.

When he takes a seat into his lap, Prompto's surprised by how hard he is already. Just the friction from taking a seat on his lap makes him groan into his mouth, Gladio's hand on the back of his neck like a romantic caress while they make out in the front seat like hormonal teenagers. Prompto almost forgets to close his eyes until he feels Gladio's cock grind into his crotch hard, his eyelids snapping shut hard when he moans like a slut right back.

The good thing about not fucking around in the hotel is that Gladiolus has no reason to keep him quiet. There's no-one around to bother them for miles, save for the cars that they seem to pass every half-hour or so. Gladio's not graceful about how he sucks a hard hickey to his throat, painting his neck purple while his hands grind Prompto's hips against his hard cock. The friction might just be enough to get Prompto off at this rate. He can tell by the way the blond grips his shoulders hard, sobbing a short, delicious sound right next to his ear.

“Baby.” Gladiolus praises him breathlessly when Prompto starts to rub himself back on the tent in his pants, and the hand on the back of his neck moves tresses from his forehead instead. The air was muggy enough as it is without frotting in the car, but the way strands of gold frame Prompto's face is enthralling.

It occurs to him a little late that if they cum now, they'll be wearing dirty clothes during their expedition through the hollow. Gladio's not graceful about how he tugs down Prompto's pants abruptly, followed by his own, grateful for his bare-chestedness for once. Maybe he didn't need his jacket after all. The thought is kind of amusing.

Prompto's not sure what he plans on doing until Gladio's pressing his much thicker cock against his, jerking them off at the same time with his hands. It's not rhythmic or slow, but the fast unsteady pace feels unbelievable when Prom just wants to get off. Gladiolus has the same idea, impatient when he tries to get him cumming before the cars start slowing down. 

Prompto's voice is like music to his ears when he's gasping for breath and whimpering like a whore, his whole body trembling as Gladiolus gets him off. He has to use his hands on the headrest on the driver's seat to keep from toppling over when Gladio makes him cum, soaking his bare abdomen rather than his royal attire. Gladiolus isn't too far behind, getting off on the sound Prompto makes when he's in the middle of a gut wrenching orgasm. He can hear Prompto mutter “oh, gods” between his sobs as cum pours out of his slit, which Gladio uses as lube to get himself off just moments after Prom's little spill.

The blond isn't moving from his waist after he's done, and Gladiolus finds that he likes the pressure in an odd, self-satisfactory way. Prompto's warm all over and it draws him in close, his lips patient as he parts from Prompto with a few lingering kisses. The only problem is what he cleans his chest off with, which Prom seems to help him with without having to ask.

Gladio can feel his tongue in the curves of his eight-pack when Prompto licks the cum off his body. It's so unbelievably hot, his cock threatens to get hard again, but he's pulling Prompto's pants back up for him when he can hear a car speed by on the highway behind them. Prompto's diligently, licking every last drop from his chest and his pelvic bone.

Prompto sits back in the passenger's seat with a pretty satisfied look on his face. Gladiolus almost laughs at him for being so over-excitable, but it's just so endearing, he tries to save it away in his mental images for later.

“Did you do that because I asked Ignis if he'd watch, or because you looooove me.” Prompto teases, his hands on his thighs as he tries to stop the trembling. It's embarrassing, being so shaky after he cums, but Gladiolus eyes him like free dessert.

“Both.” Gladiolus replies honestly. “Definitely both.”

Prompto is even more embarrassed with Gladio's blatancy. His face feels hot when he thinks about how he basically admitted to loving him, which might not be in a romantic way, but sets his soul on fire. The idea that Gladiolus loves him-- even as a friend-- makes him feel warm from his head to his toes. If he could bottle a memory and save it for later, this would be the one he'd choose.

“If that's what you do if I ask Ignis to watch, maybe I'll ask Noct to keep me company next time.” Prompto says it casually, as though he were musing aloud, turning to look out the window so he doesn't have to feel so embarrassed for saying so.

Gladiolus exhales slowly from the driver's seat, pulling out into the road, set to resume their destination.

“Don't make me pull the old girl over. We won't be back in time.” Gladiolus says it like a promise, and Prompto's gut twists with interest one more time.

“Is there something wrong with that plan?”

“This trip is as much a favour to Wiz as it is a break for you.” Gladiolus eyes him over in a way that makes him feel good. “Ignis and Noctis need to talk, so we're giving them a little space.”

“What are we doing, now that you mention it?”

Gladiolus smiles knowingly towards nothing in particular, eyes straight on the road ahead as they drive towards the Astor Sloughs. At this point, he figures there's no harm in spoiling the surprise.

“Wiz needs a photograph. Of a chocobo.”

“Yes!” Prompto cheers loudly, bouncing in his seat with antsy excitement. He doesn't seem to need any more explanation than that, which makes Gladio mutter “typical” fondly.

“No more distractions.” Gladio sounds chastising, but Prompto repeats what he says like he's making fun of his voice.

“No more distractions.” He mimics, smiling broadly. “Got it!”

Gladio's tempted to pull over and break him in just to make a point, but Ignis comes to mind, reminding them of their 8 o'clock curfew. There's no way he'd stop until the kid had a hard time walking, but he has things like responsibilities. He'll have to leave those plans for later, when they next get a moment alone, whenever that might be.

*

Ignis, humiliated with being walked in on in his most vulnerable, decided to leave heartfelt talks for later. Noctis can tell how high-strung he is just from how he tries to sit next to him on the bedspread, not close enough to touch but close enough to let him know he wants to. The little bit of distance feels more like an ocean, but Noct's hand on his leg feels like a bridge trying desperately to close the gap. 

“You should get some more rest. While you can.” Ignis suggests, breaking the tension filled silence.

“In a bit.” Noctis squeezes his leg. “I want to enjoy you while I can.”

“You want to enjoy me?” Ignis sounds curious, but amused.

“Yeah. Not very often we get alone time. Haven't had that since... everything.” Noctis slumps deeper in his seat, retracting his hand after a time.

Ignis slides closer, settling his arm around Noct's waist. Noctis leans into it, but the moment dies when someone starts knocking at the door, making him shirk away from the visible affection in a way that makes Ignis feel low. It's not his fault. In fact, it's a rather smart move, because Iris pops her head around the doorframe and questions where her brother is.

“He's out. With Prompto.” Ignis replies before Noct has the chance to, who paces back and forth over the carpet.

“Oh. That's too bad.” Iris sounds genuinely disappointed. “How about you guys? I have some shopping to finish before we start packing.”

“He'd love to.” Ignis answers for him. Noctis spares a glare his way, not happy to be volunteered. “It'd do you well to get some fresh air.”

“Great!” Iris looks too happy to turn down. 

What Ignis isn't telling him is that he doesn't want him in the place Jared died in for too long. It's necessary to make sure he doesn't get depressed with all the time he spends in his hotel room, as much as Noctis doesn't want to depart from his side. He looks sour, but all Ignis can think about is showering away the shame and guilt that lingers behind. When Iris leaves, Noctis turns towards Ignis with his arms crossed, scowling like a child.

“You didn't have to do that.” Noctis frowns deeply, and Ignis almost expects him to stomp his foot.

“You'll spend time with me when you return.” Ignis stands up straight, trying to look composed.

“What if I don't want to go shopping.”

“And ruin Iris's good time?” Ignis poses the question like he knows Noctis isn't going to decline her offer. “She needs this as much as you do. Go on. I'll be here upon your arrival.”

As much as Noctis would love to stand there and bicker, Ignis has a point when he says Iris needs it too. Iris probably needs it a lot more than him, something to take her mind off the tragedy she witnessed first hand. Noctis deals with blood and death every day, but Jared dying was a brand new experience for her, and he doesn't expect her to deal with it alone. His heart is too big for his body.

Watching him leave is as saddening for Ignis as it is for Noct. It's a necessary evil, but turning him away never gets any easier. He would've asked him to join him in the shower if it wasn't horribly imposing, but Ignis needs a few minutes alone with his thoughts anyway, moments which are becoming rarer and rarer the closer they get to Altissia. He could never complain about the time spent with his beloved, but it all gets a bit overwhelming.

The water feels warm on his skin. Ignis doesn't realize how long he's been standing in the shower, but it's long enough to feel his fingers start to prune, a rare occurrence he doesn't experience often at all. He doesn't like to spend a long time bathing, but there are no responsibilities on his plate this afternoon, save for some supply shopping that couldn't hurt to get done. It's weird, not having a schedule already planned out. Ignis didn't realize just how lost he'd feel without one.

Noctis said he wasn't pressured into anything, but Ignis still feels wracked with guilt. There are a dozen reasons why fucking him would be an awful, terrible idea, and a tiny voice in the back of his head that tells him otherwise. How nice it would be to feel him shiver in his arms when his lips caress his neck. How lovely it would be to hear him sob when he cums, over and over and over. Love isn't enough to keep this dream alive, but if he could just get one little taste, he could be satiated for a lifetime. 

How beautiful and ugly it is, knowing the one you love the most in this life can never be yours.

Ignis emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, intent on looking through his drawers for a new change of clothes. What he doesn't expect to see is Noctis already sitting on his bed, his legs crossed, his gaze focused intently on a cartoon rerun that plays quietly on the television set across from his bed. Ignis hadn't even realized there was a television there until now.

“You're back early.” 

Noctis looks up from the television set. Ignis can see how his stare lingers on his naked chest for a few beats, obviously caught off guard when he's in nothing but a towel. Normally, Ignis leaves the bathroom already fully dressed.

“I've been gone about an hour and a half now.” Noct states, hiding the surprise in his voice. It takes some serious willpower to avoid staring.

Ignis tsks his tongue against his teeth with displeasure. It's almost two hours down the drain that could've been doing something productive, and not staring at the shower wall, thinking about what could never be.

Noctis is already out of his seat when Ignis starts dressing, pulling his boxers on first for respect's sake. His button-up shirt is the second, but after he pulls it over his arms, Noctis is standing in front of him expectantly. He moves Ignis's hands away himself, fiddling with every clasp the same way he watched Ignis do it for him for every major event in the citadel.

Ignis wants to ask what he's doing, but the look of focus on Noct's face as he tries to help him dress is cute. The constant intimacy is a change of pace, and being doted on feels strange, but the moment is sweet enough to hesitate before ruining it by telling him it's not his place. Which it isn't-- Noctis shouldn't be doing this, that much is obvious-- but watching his little fingers try to slip the buttons into every respective slot makes him feel overwhelming adoration.

“You don't have to do that.” Ignis reminds him dutifully, fully expecting Noct's response.

“I know.” Noctis looks up from his shirt momentarily. There must be something obvious in the way Ignis looks down at him, because his eyes settle on his face for a few seconds. “I'm not doing it because I have to.”

“I see why Gladio found you difficult this morning.” Ignis smiles politely.

“Shut up.” Noctis pushes hard at Iggy's shoulder. A little too hard, because Ignis slides back on the bed, catching himself with his elbows digging into the mattress before his head follows suit. 

Ignis chuckles, surprised Noctis managed to catch him off guard. The intimacy of the moment was screwing with his perception, giving him very little time to dodge. What he doesn't expect is having Noctis crawl on the bed after him, straddling his waist, his knees poised on either side of him like a trap. His laughter delves off into quiet staring as he watches Noct crawl on top of him, unsure of what to think when the prince places his hands on the mattress next to his shoulders.

“Noctis.” Ignis starts to question. He doesn't have time to ask it before Noct's leaning in, kissing his jaw so sweetly, the touch feels almost like a breath ghosting his skin. 

There's a part of him that feels like sliding out from underneath his frame and vacating the premises, but Noctis is conscious, sentient; sane. He's sliding into his lap of his own volition, kissing him of his own will, and it's everything Ignis has ever thought about. Every touch feels like it courses straight through him, compelling him to stay put, his hands reaching out to slide over his thighs with careful tenderness. He almost doesn't want to touch him when the moment is so fragile, but Noctis moans when his fingers graze over the inside of his thigh, and Ignis knows without doubt that he wants him.

There was no point in getting dressed. Noctis is pulling him apart like spooled yarn, from the inside out, just as he always has. He gets braver with the kisses to his jaw when Ignis isn't pulling away, his mouth angling towards Iggy's lips instead, soft and careful when he tries to put his tongue in his mouth. Ignis isn't sure if he should let him at first, but the displeased sound Noctis whines has him parting his lips without missing a beat, letting the king lick over his mouth experimentally while his hands dwindle over the hemline of his arraignments. 

He tastes a little different than Prompto does, but it's not a bad kind of different. Noctis likes the way he moves tentatively, like if he goes even a bit too fast, he'll shatter the king like priceless glass. It's not something he likes being treated with all the time, but it's really fucking nice when all he wants is to sink into Ignis's arms and hide away from the world for a while.

Ignis's arms wrap around his waist tight, pulling his body down on top of him with all his weight. He's shifting over so he can set the king on his back instead, laying him sprawled over the mattress while he appraises him like a work of art. Noctis normally doesn't like being looked at so closely, but Ignis has a way of making him feel like he's being worshipped. 

Kisses are exchanged more than once. Noctis slides his arms around Ignis's shoulders, keeping him pulled down low enough that he can have them as he pleases. He keeps him busy enough that Ignis doesn't have room to talk about how it's inappropriate or why they shouldn't be doing this-- it's enough that he gets to kiss him, here and now, holding each other in the mid-day sun.

Ignis isn't sure how much time passes. The minutes seem to blend together, the passing of time just a shadow of the sun creeping down the wall. Every time he thinks of taking a look at the clock, Noctis is embracing his cheek with his palm, redirecting his attention back to himself. He doesn't think it matters, and doesn't want to spoil it by knowing just how long they have left. Gladio and Prompto will be back soon, intruding on their personal space, just as they always have.

“Sleeping arrangements will be a bit strained.” Ignis says finally, his lips just centimetres away from Noct's mouth while he speaks. “I forgot to inform you this morning.”

“What do you mean?” Noctis bides his time with pushing back the damp bangs away from Ignis's face, relishing every intimate second that passes by unnoticed. 

“Gladio thinks it would be best to have you with him tonight.” Ignis peppers soft kisses over his lips like silent prayers, meaning in each and every one.

“In what universe?” Noctis breathes a quiet scoff, letting himself get kissed down on, selfishly taking every peck he has to offer.

Ignis doesn't want to tell him why. Though he could explain that Noctis makes it hard to sleep when he lingers so close, he definitely doesn't want to miss out on the opportunity to hold him through the night. It's one of the little things that make the trip so worth it, reminding him every time of who he fights for.

“Perhaps he misses you.” Ignis suggests, trying to distract himself of the why's.

“Prompto's doing a pretty good job of consoling him.” Noctis sounds bitter.

The double entendre is lost on Noctis, but it makes Ignis's face burn. The reaction is a curious one, making Noct's eyebrows furrow as he watches Iggy's expression change. Eventually, Noctis squints, scrutinizing him under his gaze.

“Do you know something I don't?”

Ignis doesn't want to tell him about Gladio's confession. Noctis is a trustworthy companion, but affairs of the heart are better left under the rug where they belong.

“No.” He finally responds, layering kiss after kiss over his mouth. “Not at all.”

 

_Too much, too much, too much, too much, too much_

_Never enough_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more gayness but im so excited to get to altissia i cant even tell you how much i love agony

“Let's get this show on the road.” Iris clambers into the backseat, smiley and joyful, ready to start a new life and leave the old one behind her. “Who's ready to kick some ass?”

Ignis looks distasteful in her choice of jargon, but Gladiolus hides a laugh behind the palm of his hand. Prompto buckles himself in while the tactician pulls out onto the road, driving carefully through the cobbled streets of Lestallum and out under the cloudy blue sky. Noctis stretches when the tepid wind hits his face, and Iris leans forward, her arms braced against the headrest of the driver and passenger's side seats.

“Looking at the Regalia really reminds me of home.” Iris sighs wistfully.

“It sure doesn't look like any of the cars you see around here.” Prompto observes, turning back to talk to the backseat passengers.

“And it's a lot roomier, too. I can't imagine trying to cram five people, including Gladdy, into one of those things. Have you ever ridden in one?”

Noctis has amusement barely hidden in his voice when he replies. “Can't say we have.”

“There was barely enough room for our luggage! Thank goodness you guys could give me a lift.” Iris sounds grateful. Ignis pulls the roof of the Regalia over the car when he presses a button under the stereo, eyeing the sudden tufts of grey clouds warily.

“Think the others made it to Caem alright?” Gladiolus asks his sister, redirecting his eyes towards her and not the blond riding shotgun.

“I suppose we'll find out when we get there.” Ignis responds for her, determined not to fill her head with any negative thoughts before their arrival.

The rain patters on the rooftop steadily while they drive. Noctis tries to focus on the scenery outside rather than the purpose of their destination, but Iris is excited to be driving in the Regalia, evident in the way she tries to keep conversation going as they drive through winding roads.

“Whoa, check it out! See that? That's the Rock of Ravatogh. I'm, like, ninety percent sure.”

“Not a hundred?” Gladio poses the question inquisitively, amused by her cheerful demeanour. It takes his mind off the humiliating defeat he suffered at the hands of Ravus a few days before, which he runs through his mind constantly, remembering the hands clutched around Noct's neck while he watched helplessly from the sidelines.

“You almost know your stuff!” Prompto resounds cheerfully. The corners of Gladio's lips twitch up into a smile, which he tries to hide when he turns his head towards the window.

“All thanks to Jared.” Iris responds fondly. It leaves the car silent, heavy with the memory of the empire's assault. The car is too silent for Iris-- who tries to change the subject swiftly, picking up on the tension she inadvertently caused. “Thank you for driving, Ignis.”

“Pleasure.” Ignis doesn't sound very pleased, but his face burns red with her appreciation. Noctis can see where his blush starts to creep over his neck, and it takes some serious willpower to stop his staring before someone in the car catches him.

“Are you the only one that drives?”

“I can drive!” Prompto pipes up quickly, almost bouncing in his seat.

“And so can I.” Noctis reminds him teasingly.

“It's not like Iggy's the only one who can drive. He's just the only one we can trust.” Gladio points out astutely. Iris laughs before she can help herself.

“Wow, are they really that bad?”

“Not bad at all! Right?” Noctis almost glares at Gladiolus from over Iris's shoulder, arms folded over his chest while he awaits a reply.

“Right!” Prompto chirps. “But there's no way the big guy's taking any chances with his little sister in the car.”

Gladiolus isn't willing to respond to that remark. He's not too far off the target, but being called out for his affections makes him feel a little embarrassed. The conversation goes quiet for a few more seconds before Gladio breaks the silence with an inquiry, peering down at his little sister from the seat right next to her.

“Sure you don't need a break?”

“I'm okay.” Iris pats his leg fondly.

“You are sandwiched in back there!” Prompto says it with barely concealed humour, but Gladiolus can detect just a little bit of envy under his voice that goes unnoticed by the rest of the car's occupants.

“Have Prompto suffer instead.” Noctis suggests playfully, and for a moment, Gladio thinks he might hear it too.

“Really, it's fine! No suffering here.” Iris assures him. She's just happy she gets to lean against her brother during the ride, snuggled up between his broad chassis and Noct's skinny frame.

“If you say so.” Ignis replies soon after.

The rain continues to beat against the car's exterior rhythmically, picking up in intensity as they continue the journey south. It's Prompto who notices the fortress first, watching a large white flying ship pass overhead with a disappointed look. He leans forward in his seat so he can catch a better glimpse of the empire's ship, watching it sail over the Regalia as smooth as a bird. It's lying low enough that he can hear the engines whirring with Magitek machinery, watching the engines start to flicker as it's brought in to a stop nearby.

“I've got some bad news, guys.”

“Great. Another floating fortress.” Gladiolus doesn't sound pleased. The look he sends his sister betrays how worried he really is.

“Let's pull over.” Ignis suggests, slowing down the car's steady pace.

“Noct...” Iris sounds concerned. 

“Relax.” Noctis responds casually, assuring her in less than a sentence. “We've got this.”

Ignis wisely pulls over at the Old Lestallum outpost, far enough away from the Imperial's fortress that their presence can go unnoticed. Gladiolus doesn't seem happy to be leaving his sister behind, but he appears significantly more relaxed when he knows they aren't making her wait in the car like a sitting duck. He steps out of the Regalia first, reaching out for his sister, helping her to the ground with his hands under her shoulders like assisting a child. Iris looks a little embarrassed to be handled around like that, but none of the king's royal retainers seem to notice.

“Taking matters into our own hands?” Ignis asks one more time, confirming their next destination.

“Getting justice for Jared.” Noctis replies with something darker in his tone of voice than Ignis is used to hearing. When Ignis turns to get a look at his face as the prince jumps to the ground from the elevated seat, Noctis looks determined.

“And for Talcott, too.” Prompto adds quickly. The idea of Talcott losing Jared resonated just as deeply with him as it did for Noctis, a parallel to a son losing his father.

“Iris, I'll need you to wait here.” Gladiolus phrases it like a request, but they both know it's a command.

“Alright.”

“Careful, Noct-- only fools rush in.” Ignis reminds him, already cautioning Noct's recklessness before they've even left the outpost. “I suggest we review our intelligence and devise a plan.”

Noctis heaves a sigh before he starts the wet walk to a closer survey point. Gladiolus shoots him a brief look that makes him hesitant to complain, so rather than express his displeasure at being pulled off track, he tries to change the conversation to something a little more lighthearted. His boots squelch with rainwater, his body feeling uncomfortably sticky already after being out in the heat and rain for more than five minutes.

“Gas stations are the same wherever you go.”

“That one looks more like the gas station that time forgot.” Gladiolus observes openly. Noctis hadn't thought about it until now, but the whole place looked dingy and close to falling apart.

“Would look a tad out of place in the Crown City.” Ignis muses aloud, trying to follow close behind.

“Gotta love that smell though, right?” Prompto's optimism is a tiny sliver of sunshine in rain. As they draw nearer to their destination, he tries to catch a clearer glimpse of the fortress behind the trees. “Looks the same as before.”

“Looks can be deceiving.” Ignis resounds thoughtfully. He doesn't want to think of the chancellor at a time like this, but it's a good reason to be wary.

“We beat 'em once. They won't make it easy this time.” Gladio replies, well versed in war games from his time spent in the Kingsglaive.

“Neither will we.” Noctis sounds sure of himself. It makes Ignis want to believe him.

“You think Iris is doing alright?” Prompto inquires curiously.

“She is all alone.” Ignis muses aloud for a second time, which makes Gladio stare holes into his back.

“She's a big girl. She'll be fine.” Gladiolus doesn't sound impressed with what they're implying, but his eyes linger on Prompto for a few halves of a second.

“Iris isn't exactly a 'bring 'em on' backstreet brawler, is she?” Prompto seems concerned for her well-being, but Gladiolus assures him before his nervousness can start to pique.

“She's tough, but I'd feel better if we got this over with and got back on the road.” 

There's a conveniently placed watchtower just outside the stronghold's walls that overlooks both inside and outside the area. Luckily, there are just a few low-level troops scouting the area, none of which prove to be worth the hassle of stationing them there. The battery inside flickers with red energy, surging with new power, and the sight makes Noctis wary.

“So. What's the plan?” He questions, though it's more to Ignis than to anyone else.

“Find the base commander and take him into custody. Targeting metal men will yield little in the way of reconnaissance, but bones bend easily.” The nonchalance that he presents the plan for torturing makes Prompto shudder, but Ignis doesn't seem to notice. “We'll split into two groups of two. Prompto and Gladio,” he says their names together in a way that makes Noctis suspicious, but he continues before he has a chance to comment on it. “... will generate a diversion.”

“Aw, yeah.” Prompto sounds cocky already, arms crossed with confidence. “Making a scene is what I do best.”

“Noct, are you prepared?”

“As I'll ever be.”

“Operation: To Catch a Commander is go!” Prompto turns enthusiastically, cracking his knuckles.

*

“The insolence of that up-jumped mercenary...” Caligo spits. “And there is still no word. This cannot be borne. Such behaviour besmirches his Radiance's good name.”

“That's our target.” Ignis doesn't sound impressed in the least. From where he crouches, he tries to point out the lavishly dressed general surrounded by two average looking troopers, displeasure obvious in his expression. “Let's follow him. Seize him on my signal.”

It's too bright and open here to consider taking out the general. Two guarding troops allow him passage through a doorway sealed with energy, and Noctis crouches low to the ground as he inches past, moving from a stagnant military car and hiding behind a copper chained wall. 

Ignis takes the lead, resting his hand gently over Noctis's chest when he meanders just a bit too close to the open. He whispers “stay hidden” with a cautioning tone, but something about what Caligo was complaining about moments before doesn't sit right with him. Could the mercenary they're talking about possibly be Ravus? And if so, why wouldn't Ravus want to commune with Caligo as soon as possible? Could Luna still be on the run?

“What is that chancellor playing at? I'm no man's fool. He sent Highwind to watch me.” Caligo seems like he's talking more to himself than he is directing conversation at his guards. Such a narcissistic and boisterous man, Ignis isn't surprised in the least to hear him complaining loudly. At the very least, what he says could provide valuable insight for later-- information he's tucking away, to examine at a less compromising place.

Noctis moves so swiftly, Ignis can only hear the rush of air that follows his warp strike. His blade sinks into the guard's back deeply, impaling him completely on his sword, and his wrist draws back with the fluidity of a dancer. Ignis is transfixed by the way he manoeuvres through the dark, forcing himself to follow along quickly before he falls behind.

“It's no mere coincidence she and I meet wherever I go.” Caligo continues, his voice carrying. “Claims to 'trust her as a person'. Hollow words from the mind behind the Magitek movement.”

“I may have acted in haste with that impudent steward back in Lestallum, but my mission remains clear. And I'll be damned if that mercenary gets her grubby hands on the prince before Caligo Ulldor.”

Noctis has to stop himself from wheeling forward and slaughtering them all. Anger courses through his veins like a drug, setting his nerves on fire and the hair on his arms at end. Ignis can sense Caligo's words setting him off, which he tries to dissuade against when he gestures towards the general silently. They can't risk being seen now, when they're so close already.

“I'll give Highwind one last chance to respond. Stand guard here. If the commodore arrives, send her through.”

Caligo, unattended to for the first time tonight, continues through the last set of metal doors and towards the bunker. It's now or never for Ignis, who whispers “now's your chance, Noct” hastily from somewhere behind Noctis's shoulder.

Noctis rushes forward in a flash of light, shattering into a million tiny fragments and conjuring again directly behind Caligo's back. He knocks him forward with his weight, his blade pressed into the back of his neck, hard enough to draw blood that bubbles on the metal surface of his dagger. Ignis has to remind him that they need him alive-- the look on Noct's face is scary enough to freeze him in place-- but Noctis heaves “don't worry” like it takes effort not to slit a clean line around his throat and be done with it.

On the bright side, Noctis does get to choke him unconscious with his arm around his neck, feeling him struggle and then still silently after just a few moments of pressure. Noct picks himself off his body, but Ignis can feel his heart racing faster, watching beads of sweat trickle down the side of his face and disappear underneath his shirt collar. It's not the time or the place to be so enthralled with his fighting skills, so he clears his throat and redirects his attention to the unconscious general laid out on the cement.

“You're in fine form. Keep it up.” 

An explosion from nearby makes them both jump visibly. The battery Noctis spied from the watchtower is engulfed in deep black smoke, ash and cinder lifting in the wind and pouring out over the stronghold's walls.

“Looks like they've set to work.” Ignis sounds impressed. “I'll escort him off the base. You regroup with the others.” 

There are only a handful of Magitek troopers that are easily taken care of with warp strikes. By the time Gladiolus is calling to Noctis from behind one of the stationary tanks, they've already managed to damage a Magitek engine within an inch of its life, and Noctis easily takes care of the rest with a few sharp plunges of his sword in the machinery. He would've thought a general of the Imperial empire would've had a better prepared army, but the explosion the others set off seemed to impair a great portion of the Magitek's infantry.

Noctis is still wiping sweat from his forehead when Ignis unlocks one of the doors barricading their escape, using a keycard he must've nicked off one of the dead troopers outside. He doesn't look happy, lips pulled into a terse line, hands curled into tight fists.

“Glad to see you lot were successful.”

“Does that mean you... weren't?” Noctis sounds genuinely surprised. The situation seemed handled just ten minutes before, and Ignis isn't one to admit defeat so readily.

“I placed our captive into the Hunters' custody, but I've just been informed he's fled.” Ignis is clearly sour about the affair. “He lives to die another day.”

“And I'll _gladly_ help him with that.” There's a low rasp in Noct's voice, promising vengeance in every syllable.

The sound of air rushing above his head is the only thing that alludes to another presence in their midst. A woman in black-- the commodore, Noctis realizes-- is aiming directly for his head with the sharp point of her lance, launching herself at him with a full frontal aerial assault. 

Noctis barely manages to get his sword out in time, but the edge of his blade blocks her deadly assault by inches. Aranea pulls back, only to throw herself at him again, pushing more of her weight into the weapon trying desperately to shield him from her attacks.

“Hey, pretty boy.” 

Highwind is still laughing as the Shield rushes forward, missing her with the edge of his greatsword by at least a foot. She uprights herself a few feet away, lance readied for attack at her side, exuberant confidence in every stance she has.

“This is gonna take a while.” Noctis groans.

“What, you worried?” Gladio rushes forward, but Aranea chuckles again when she sidesteps his swing with fluidity.

“You wish.”

*

“Aw, is it that time, already?”

“What time?”

Aranea stands up straight, repositioning the glove on her hand a little more comfortably.

“Quittin' time. Sorry, but this girl doesn't work after hours. I could, but there wouldn't be a single gil in it for me.” She hums as though feigning disappointment. “We should play again sometime, pretty boy.”

The commodore disappears without waiting for a response. As simply as she appeared, she was gone, disappearing into the dark sky when she pushes off from the ground. Prompto tries to catch his breath with a deep sigh, a little awe-struck by the sudden disappearance, while Gladiolus continues to brandish his sword for a few minutes.

“I'm still worried about Iris.” Prompto says it factually, turning to face Noctis, eager to get out of the stronghold once and for all.

“I imagine she's fine.” Ignis reassures him, turning to face the group when he deems the commodore's presence officially gone.

“But we shouldn't keep her waiting.” Gladiolus chimes in, just as eager to get out of the keep as Prompto.

It's just a little after midnight when they finally return to Old Lestallum. The battle was exhausting, which is obvious in how they trudge back to the outpost. Iris can see dirt in their clothes, but she tries to welcome them back just as eagerly, her worries laid to rest when she can see her brother.

“You're back! Did you kick some asses?”

“Oh, yeah.” Noctis sounds exhausted, breathing his response, worn out from the altercation with the woman in black.

“All in a day's work.” Gladiolus sounds proud.

“Hey, mind if I hang in your guys' room for a bit?” Iris seems unwilling to be left alone, but Gladiolus slides his arm around her shoulder protectively, walking her back to the room like a personal bodyguard.

*

The rain is stopped when they set out to Cape Caem the next day, which Noctis is grateful for when his hair isn't soaked and falling into his eyes. The wind feels warm on his skin with the roof of the Regalia pulled down, a small vice when he's trapped between a body and the car door. He can't help but steal small glances at Ignis through the side-view mirror, but every time he does, Ignis manages to catch his gaze not long after, catching his looking red handed.

“I coulda gone another round.” Gladiolus pouts, his arm draped over the side of the car.

“Given her prowess, you should be glad you didn't.” Ignis sounds foreboding.

“Yeah. That Loqi guy was nothing compared to her.” Prompto replies thoughtfully, and Ignis realizes he almost forgot about their interception. It feels like eons ago, but it must've only been a few weeks.

“Though we may not have fared so well without the marshal.”

“Think things would've gone differently if he were here now?” Prompto asks, turning to face him. He doesn't get a response until Gladiolus is chiming in from the backseat, continuing his train of thought about Commodore Highwind.

“She offered to play again. Maybe we'll get the chance to find out.”

There's no reason why Gladio's response should make him feel jealous, but it stirs up an unfamiliar feeling in his chest that he's not used to dealing with. Prompto's mouth pulls into a frown for a second, but he hides it away when he leans forward and tries to turn the volume up a little higher. The song on the radio isn't his taste, but he pretends like it is, fingers tapping on his leg in time to the rhythm.

The air smells fresh as they surpass the twisting river. If Prompto focuses hard enough, he thinks he can see beasts out in the distance, wading in the shallows in search of small river fish. He doesn't realize Gladiolus has been staring at him until he fixes his hair in the mirror, finding Gladio looking at his face intently, like he's trying to scratch the surface.

“So, Noct. What are you going to do when you get to Altissia?” Iris asks him, unaware of the tension brewing right beside her.

“Me? Get ready to go to Altissia, I guess.” Noctis shrugs.

“Right.” Iris sounds a little disappointed. “Can't keep Lady Luna waiting.”

“The earthquakes. They've died down.” Gladiolus changes the subject again swiftly.

“Right. Forgot about those.” Prompto seems unsettled, remembering the tumble back at the meteor.

“Are you guys excited to get to Altissia or what?” Iris wheels the conversation right back around, though Gladiolus is just happy when she doesn't sound so down. “I'm so jealous!”

“We're not going on vacation.” Gladio reminds her sternly.

“Oh, yeah. You're right.”

“Iris?” Ignis sounds concerned.

“Something wrong?” Prompto asks, tenderness in his tone.

“What? No, I'm fine. I-- I'm not jealous. I just... had a lot of fun hanging out with you guys. But, that'll all be in the past once we hit Caem.”

“What are you talking about?” Gladiolus's eyebrows furrow.

“We can hang out any time! Right?” Prompto tries to remain enthusiastic about the prospect, but Noctis replies with a strangled “Yeah.”

The ride passes in almost uncomfortable silence, but Iris seems happy. She leans from one side to the other, clearly antsy to get out of the car and into the world. Gladiolus is the one who suggests pulling over for a moment to give her some fresh air-- and a little more time spent with his sister, who agrees to stretching her legs for a minute.

“I wonder why no one's ever thought of that before.” Prompto sounds amused.

“Because no one's ever had a little sister along for the ride.” Ignis answers his hypothetical question, pulling over at a parking space already occupied by a few other sightseers. 

The ocean air smells wonderful. It rolls in on the warm winds that shift through the trees, rustling their jade green leafs like musical instruments. Iris laments on how stifling it is in the backseat, only to get teased by Gladio, where she chides him for being too big for his own good. Prompto feels included just being around them while they tease each other, in that unfamiliar familial way, but he tries to give them some distance and sets himself at Ignis's side instead. 

“Did you hear about the imperial base?” One sightseer says to another.

“Yeah. Some Lucian's went in and raised hell.”

“They raised hell, alright. Put the base commander in the hospital.”

_It'll be the grave next time_ , Noctis thinks bitterly to himself, overlooking the lush green foliage that expands out towards the cliffside.

“Smells like there's... salt in the air.” Iris observes aloud, leaning her head back.

“Sea breeze.” Ignis answers for her. “We're on the water.”

“Wow! It's beautiful!”

“Picture perfect.” Ignis is looking at the side-view mirror as he says it, meeting Noct's eyes for a dozenth time.

“Look at this beautiful view!” Prompto exclaims, leaning over the window.

“Like something out of a dream.” Noctis responds, maintaining eye contact with the driver, who steals glances into the backseat gratuitously.

“Just don't fall asleep on me.” Gladio replies, reminding him of the trip back from the Grotto, when he slept on his shoulder and drooled over his jacket. Iris doesn't know what he's referring to, but it makes Noctis's face red with embarrassment when he calls him out on it.

“So. You're the one doing all the cooking?” Iris leans forward, peering over Ignis's shoulder.

“More or less.”

“Gladdy. Don't you help?”

Gladiolus's silence speaks volumes.

“Noct?”

Noctis almost swallows his tongue, shifting with discomfort in his seat when she takes a tone with him.

“On occasion.”

“What occasion.” Ignis doesn't phrase it like a question.

“I do my part! Prompto sits up a little straighter. “I always set the table!”

“That's some arrangement you guys have here.”

Gladiolus points out a shack coming up over the horizon, asking her if it's the place.

“Sure is! Thanks for the lift, Ignis.”

“Can't wait to see my buddy Talcott.” Prompto seems earnestly excited.

Ignis bides his time replenishing the curatives for a few moments, and Noctis stops to enjoy the view. The scenery surrounding Caem is certainly picturesque, just like Ignis said, but he can't help but wonder if maybe he was speaking about him. Noctis chews on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully while Prompto sways under the heavy wind, determined to take a picture of the lighthouse.

The sound of Cindy greeting them from the pathway breaks Noctis out of his momentary daydream. Prompto seems to walk forward a little faster, already determined to hold some of her attention. It makes Gladiolus watch him closely for a few seconds, but he's trying not to look like their interaction phases him. It's Ignis who looks over at him first, gauging his reaction to Prompto's mild flirting.

“I knew it was ya'll! I'd recognize the purr of that engine anywhere.”

“Whew! You know your stuff.”

Iris departs on friendly terms. She thanks them for the ride before she's bounding towards the house ahead of them, giving them time to speak with Cindy privately, though she departs with a curious look between the two blondes discussing car parts.

“How's the boat?” Noctis interrupts before they can continue, and Ignis is suddenly grateful for the distraction.

“Paw paw's tinkerin' away. Reckon he'll be tinkerin' for some time.”

“Trouble at sea?” Ignis questions. Cindy turns around to start walking, speaking while she strides up the pathway.

“Seen her share, by the looks of her. Some parts we can fix, others need replacin'. Don't ya'll worry. Paw paw's goin' nowhere until she's done. Parts won't fetch themselves, though. Was kinda hopin' ya'll wouldn't mind helpin' out with that?”

Ignis replies before Prompto has the opportunity to put his foot in his mouth, resounding with a patient “We're at your disposal.” while his hand falls on Noctis's lower back momentarily.

“To tell the truth, we already got a couple a hands on deck. Dustin an' Monica. Those two have been real swell. Managed to gather just about everything we need.”

“You can depend on the Crownsguard.” Ignis responds assuredly.

“Trouble is, they ain't had much luck findin' a certain somethin' by the name of 'mythril'. Apparently the stuff's hard to come by around these parts, least accordin' to the little fella from the city.”

“Talcott?” Prompto sounds surprised.

“You betcha! Sharp as a tack, that one. Could tell ya'll more about the stuff'n I could.”

Noctis spares one last look behind himself, unsure of why he suddenly feels eyes on his person.

“I'll be sure to ask.”

*

Noctis is the first one to suggest bedtime, and Iris directs them all to a bedroom just up the stairs from the kitchen. Travelling in the car felt more like days instead of hours, and Iris is sweet, but being cramped in the backseat with her and her brother was a little overwhelming. Noctis doesn't have claustrophobia, but Gladiolus could make anyone feel claustrophobic with his massive size in a confined space. Iris wasn't too far off the mark when she called him too big for the backseat.

Noct lies back, sprawling out over the mattress with a lengthy exhale. His head sinks into the too-soft pillow like quicksand, and Noctis finds it smells stale, like a bed that hasn't been used in a while. There are only two mattresses and an old-looking couch pressed up against the far wall, so he knows tonight isn't going to be a private one. Someone will have to share, and he assumes it'll be himself.

Even those few precious moments of solitude are cut short when Prompto enters the bedroom not long after. Noctis can see something bothering him, hidden away behind his cheerful mask. He tries not to assume things, but it's hard not to draw his own conclusions, tracing it back to the brief encounter with Highwind back at the stronghold.

“Something on your mind?”

“Nah. Could use a shower though.”

Prompto lies down on his stomach next to Noctis, interfering with his personal space. Rather than relax on an empty bed, he tries to snuggle in closer to the prince's side, using his arms to keep his upper half propped up. Though he's tempted to tell him he needs me-time, the physical affection is kind of nice. Ignis must be downstairs, preparing a meal for the evening, too busy to handle him the way he wants.

“Hey, Noct? Can I kiss you?”

The question catches him off guard. When Noctis turns his head to look at him completely, Prompto looks earnest enough, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. There's a hopefulness on his face that makes Noct's heart lurch into his throat, and for a moment, Prompto thinks he's about to turn him away.

“Uh. S-Sure?” Noctis stutters, cursing himself for sounding like an idiot.

Prompto almost jumps with excitement, hopefulness now surging with a new burst of energy. He shifts like he's getting closer, draping one of his arms over the prince's chest, his fingertips grazing over his jaw in a way that feels just a little too soft. Noctis keeps looking between the wall and Prompto's eyes, back and forth, surprised that he's the one that feels so nervous and not his over-excitable best friend. It's not that different from the night at the campsite, he still doesn't know why the way Prom looks at him makes his abdomen feel warm.

Noctis is almost about to tell him to wipe his smirk off his face when his words are cut short, Prompto's lips soften when he leans in and leaves his mouth with a chaste peck. Noct can feel how hot his face is, and no doubt Prompto notices, because he laughs and snorts like he's just heard a joke.

“Dude, you sure you're okay?” Prompto teases from above.

“Was that it?” He shrugs in an attempt to feign nonchalance. “Had better.”

“Yeah, the big guy told me all about you and Iggy back in Lestallum.” 

Prompto continues to tease him, but his mocking sinks in a little deeper than he intended. Noctis's face gets even redder when he's called out, and Prom can't help but laugh even louder, throwing his head back with amusement. Noctis feels like throwing himself off the bed and crawling underneath.

“Whatever he told you is a lie.” Noctis sounds displeased. Prompto is still laughing, his hand patting Noctis's chest assuredly.

“Relax, dude. I'm just happy you're not fighting anymore.”

Noctis has to bite his tongue. He should've expected Prompto and Gladio picking up on the building tension, but he's still not sure Ignis is being open to him about everything. Prompto's eyes fall to his neck, ending where his skin meets the collar of his t-shirt. The hand caressing his cheek drifts towards his shoulder, a motion that shouldn't mean anything, but makes Noctis swallow anyway.

“Just for the record... how good was he?” Prompto asks the question like he's thinking to himself, but Noctis can't meet his eyes, turning his head away to focus more intently on a peeling piece of wallpaper.

“What kind of question is that.”

“A perfectly reasonable one! Gladio is... gentle, but rough.” 

Prompto discusses it like talking about the weather, and Noctis has a hard time not launching himself out of the room. What he does is almost choke on his spit, sputtering into his shoulder, grateful his head is turned to the side when he almost launches into a coughing fit.

“We haven't done that!” Noctis shrinks into his shirt, but Prompto slides the hand on his shoulder across the expanse of his torso and towards his waist.

“Oh. Oh. Haha, my bad.” Prompto looks sheepish for the first time since the conversation began. “In my defence, the big guy went a little light on the details.”

“I'll kill him.” Noctis bristles.

“Don't be like that.” Prompto sounds amused still, his hand shifting over his hip so slowly Noctis almost doesn't notice. “Now we know each other's secrets, so it all works out. I don't know what you were doing, exactly, but Ignis needed time off anyway, so.”

“Time off?” Noctis turns to look at him curiously, still embarrassed all over.

“Yeah, Gladdy noticed he's been looking a little tense lately, so I just thought you were... y'know. Helping him. With that.” Prompto chuckles nervously, averting his gaze with a shyness he didn't have five minutes prior.

“You thought I was helping him.” Noctis doesn't sound amused, repeating what he says with disbelief.

“Well, yeah.” Prompto pauses, looking even more sheepish than he did just a moment ago. “I mean, that's what I did.”

The world seems to slow down for a moment. Even the birds outside, once chirping loudly just outside the bedroom window, seem to still as Prompto's words settle in. Like a hand clutching tighter and tighter at his chest, something ugly coils deep inside his stomach, threatening to come spilling out of his eyes with a sharp pang. Prompto seems to notice the sudden stillness in Noct's demeanour as he blinks away the jealous anger bubbling up to the top.

“What did you do?” Noctis's eyebrows furrow. Prompto feels disquieted, but pauses hesitantly when the prince's hand closes over his wrist like he's desperate for stability.

“It wasn't anything.” Prompto's mouth twitches into a frown when he notices the hurt in his eyes.

“What did you do, Prompto?”

Prompto's hesitant to say, and Noctis understands why. What he doesn't understand is why he feels so hurt over this revelation. It's not an anger he's holding against his best friend, but a jealousy that rears its head up from the side he tries to keep suppressed. He still needs to know-- everything, right down to the last detail, something to tide the green of his envy.

“I- I just gave him a _little_ blowjob. N- Not that it was little! It was actually pretty nice, now that I think about it. Not as big as Gladdy but still pretty big--”

Prompto's sentence is cut short by a yelp that spills past his lips when his back hits the mattress. Noctis has a single hand on his chest, leaning forward just enough to pin him there with his weight, and Prompto blinks up at him with wide-eyed confusion. For a second, he's nervous he struck some kind of chord with him he shouldn't have, but Noctis looks more like a grumpy cat than he does someone flowing with anger.

“When.”

“The disc.” Prompto finds himself answering automatically.

Noctis flinches like he's been slapped. The hand on Prompto's chest eases, but lingers like he doesn't want to pull away. He can feel the rise and fall of Prompto's steady breathing, his warmth telling him to come closer. He doesn't want to be stuck in a spiral of self-pity. The past few days have been hard enough without this information adding to the ever growing pile.

“So while I almost died, you were getting head?”

It's Prompto's turn to look like he's about to cry. His lips pull into as straight a line as he can muster, trying not to appear as hurt as he feels. It doesn't matter, because Noctis can see through him anyway, his soul laid bare for all to see. He feels stripped when Noct stares down at him, but even as he turns away, he can feel the prince's eyes tunnelling into his psyche.

“It wasn't like that.” Prompto tries to sound sure of himself, but his voice breaks. When he thinks about it, it was like that, and Noctis is just simplifying it in a way that he can understand.

“What was it like, then?”

“You were gone, and-- Ignis was so worried, we were both freaking out, and you were gone, dude!”

“He was so torn up about me, he got you off.” Noctis sounds deadpan. His eyebrows are still creased like he's trying to make sense of the situation, and drawing blanks. Every new thought leads to a dead end. He can feel Prompto's heart speeding up the longer he keeps his hand poised on his chest.

“No.” Prompto almost looks ashamed to correct him. He moves with discomfort just underneath Noct's body, but Noctis has him trapped there, completely defenceless unless he were to summon his gun. He'd never dream of it, so that option is void. Noctis looks more hurt than like he's going to hurt him, which is the worst part about it.

“I got him off, it wasn't like he sat down and said, 'hey, I almost watched Noct die, let's fuck'.”

Prompto can feel where Noctis's fingers flex against his torso. While the prince was so caught up in thinking about himself, he hadn't considered how Ignis might've felt when he tumbled off that cliff. Gladio's words come to mind like a mantra. _“You're not the only one on edge”._

“What did you do?” Noctis's voice is much quieter compared to his jealous confrontation. It's smooth and meek, genuinely curious in a way that makes Prompto feel less tense. Prompto can also feel where Noctis leans back, sitting his ass over his pelvis, the hand on his chest more like a comforting weight than a determined pressure.

“U-- Um.” Prompto blinks fast a few times, unsure of how to respond. At this point, he has no choice but to tell him the truth, if only to salvage the friendship he feels was just hanging on a thread. “I... got on my knees.”

Noctis sighs through his nose while Prompto regales the story about the Disc. The blond pauses when Noct's hand shifts lower, seemingly unconsciously, resting just below his rib cage.

“And then?”

“I.” Prompto stutters over his words, still unsure of whether or not to keep going. “I took his dick out of his pants, and s-- sucked on it.” 

Noctis relishes the way Prompto starts to look as embarrassed as he did while being confronted about Ignis. He looks nervous and humiliated at the same time, desperate to prove himself and admit his indiscretions to his best friend. When Prompto shifts underneath him, he can feel his erection grinding against his ass, an obvious betrayal of how turned on he is while he's being interrogated.

“You can tell me.” Noctis sounds a lot less angry with him, which makes Prompto relax further under his touches.

“He, um... fucked my mouth, for a few minutes.” Prompto moves again, but Noctis can feel him grinding his dick against his ass through their clothes with ease. It doesn't take a genius to know what he's doing, but he looks like he's caught red-handed when Noct gives his torso a once over.

“Noct?” Prompto looks confused when Noctis's hand drifts even lower, sinking his fingertips under the hemline of his shirt.

“Will you show me?” Noctis almost looks like he's abashed to ask.

“Show you?”

“You obviously know what he likes.” Noctis sounds a little bitter, but his request is forthright. “So show me. I want to make him feel good too. Why do you get to have all the fun?”

Prompto looks startled at the bluntness of his question, but he squirms up a little straighter in his seat, his head elevated partially by the pillows behind his shoulders. He's determined to help his best friend in whatever way he can, even if it's by unconventional means, and said friend still seems a bit pissed off with him for choking on Ignis's cock before he could. His hands rest more confidently on either side of Noct's waist, dragging him in closer, trying to rest his head at level with his pelvic bone.

“Dude, if you needed help, why didn't you just say so.” Prompto sounds teasing, trying to lighten the mood.

“Shut _up_.” 

Noctis isn't pleased with the implication, punctuating his sentence by shoving the bulge in his pants up against Prompto's mouth. Prom's got his lips parted just enough that Noctis can feel hot breath over his cock, soaking his pants through with a little bit of his spit as he's caught off guard. Prompto's groan is muffled by the fabric of his royal arraignments, and Noctis is impatient as he shoves his khaki's over his waistline, almost tearing the straps in half on the way down. 

“Someone'll hear you if you keep that up.” Noctis sounds almost mocking as he drags the head of his cock over Prompto's lips, smearing his mouth over with pre-cum. “Better put your mouth to good use.”

Noct's intensity definitely isn't something Prompto expected. The way he handles him, hands gripping his hair for stability while he pins him to the bed under his frame, makes him moan just enough to have Noctis sliding his cock between his parted lips. It cuts the sound off short, silencing him at the source, and Noct's thumb is gentle as he grazes the pad of his finger over his cum soaked mouth.

“Open.” His voice is just enough of a command to have Prompto obeying readily, trying to relax his throat as he feels Noctis start fucking his mouth. “Good.”

Praise makes Prompto's face red, his eyes shutting with embarrassment when he realizes Noctis has been looking at his face the entire time. Every time Prompto tries to groan, the vibration courses through his cock, his thrusts growing more confident when he realizes Prompto can take it. He's got to hand it to him, he does suck cock like a godsend, careful of his teeth every time Noctis pulls his cock from his mouth and slides it easily back in.

He can hear the wet sounds Prompto's mouth makes when drool slides over his chin, the head of his cock just about rubbing the back of his throat every time he fucks himself forward. It's just about heavenly, having his cock surrounded on all sides by Prompto's greedy little mouth, and when the sweet little saint looks up at him with his pretty blue eyes, Noctis can feel his cock throb with want as Prompto eases him closer to cumming.

Noctis can feel Prompto's throat tighten when he tries to swallow back some of the saliva that drenches the lower half of his face, stifling the sound of his own loud whine when he pulls his shirt into his mouth. Noctis's hips still while he groans, low and muffled, his cum filling up Prompto's wet mouth and dribbling over his chin when he can't swallow it all in time. Noctis takes his time pulling out, and Prompto sputters a little when there's no longer a cock fucking his throat.

“Did I miss all of that.” Gladio's voice echoes from the doorway, almost making Noct jump out of his skin. “A cryin' shame.”

Noctis pulls his clothes back around his waist abruptly, humiliation clear as day. He hisses something that sounds like an insult under his breath, but Prompto doesn't seem phased in the least, cum and spit still smeared over his mouth like a work of art. Gladio looks amused as he crosses the floor, the bed creaking with his weight when he takes a seat and starts taking off his shoes.

“Noct needed some pointers for Iggy.” Prompto beams. Noctis shoots him a glare.

“I don't need any pointers.” 

“Oh?” Gladiolus looks unconvinced. “So that was just for fun, then?”

Noctis opens his mouth and shuts it again almost immediately after. Gladio's rendered him speechless, incapable of defending his reasoning, his face still hot with humiliation. He can feel his face grow even warmer when Gladiolus leans in, kissing over Prompto's cum-soaked mouth, looking like the cat who got the cream. Noctis watches as his tongue licks cum and spit from Prompto's chin, making the blond recoil and laugh a bubbly sound.

“Dude, gross!”

“As gross as having his Highness on your face?”

“Well, you got me there.”

Gladiolus picks dirty clothes off the floor and offers them to Prompto, who wipes his face on them as inconspicuously as possible. He's not sure how he'd explain a massive cum stain on one of his shirts to Ignis on laundry day, but he figures he'll burn that bridge when he gets to it. 

Noctis doesn't feel as painfully jealous anymore, but he's just a bit envious, buried deep beneath the surface. Prompto picks up on it like a radar beacon, signalling him out when he doesn't respond to Gladio's teasing.

“You should try that tonight.” His suggestion is just a little too enthusiastic, and Noctis reminds him to stay quiet, wary of just how thin the walls are. 

The suggestion makes him grunt with displeasure when he remembers the plan to share a room, reluctant to go any farther when Gladiolus and Prompto are sleeping soundly just a few feet away. Prompto seems to pick up on his hesitance right away.

“We'll be church mice.” He promises readily, almost bouncing in place. “You won't even know we're here.”

“But you _are_ here.” Noctis mutters under his breath.

“We head to Altissia after you find that 'mythril' stuff Cindy talked about.” Gladiolus reminds them diligently, sliding his jacket off his shoulders, preparing for an early night.

Gladio doesn't have to fill in the blanks. Once they venture to Altissia and collect Luna, there's no telling when they'll be back. _If_ they'll be back. She's set to awaken the Hydreon, and there's no telling where the road will take them after that. It fills him with anxiety and unsure feelings, like a balloon set to burst.

Noctis puts his face in his hands, sliding his fingers up through his hair.

“And there's no chance I can get you to leave for while.”

“Not a chance in the world, Princess.” Gladiolus smiles broadly. “You'd have to pay us quite the pretty penny if you think we'll miss this free show.”

“Ditto.” Prompto looks just as amused. Noctis groans into his hands, shoulders slumping visibly.

“Why do I ever listen to you.”

*

Noctis spends dinner in silence. He refuses to look up from his plate until it's cleaned, so high strung that he eats his vegetables rather than pushes them off to the side. Ignis seems to notice the disposition, looking at him strangely from over his meal, participating very little in dinner table conversation. Prompto tries impressing Talcott with tales of impressive feats, Gladiolus stands by to debunk all his exaggerations, and Iris seems happy to be surrounded by the guys for the evening.

Once or twice Prompto will ask Noctis a question, who responds with short answers and one word replies. Though Ignis assumes Gladiolus notices the prince's quiet atmosphere, the Shield seems to shrug it off, which is far more curious than Noct's strange silence. Ignis is sure something is brewing.

Noctis pushes away from the dinner table after he asks to be excused, which Ignis permits only when he notices his plate is empty. He's the first one finished, normally not a feat bested by anyone except Gladiolus, and Ignis reminds him to wash off his plate before watching him bound up the stairs and back to the bedroom. When Ignis turns his attention back to the table, Prompto is watching him knowingly.

“What?” Ignis mouths silently, looking down at his shirt, making sure there's no food on his collar.

Prompto shakes his head, turning his attention back to the table, and Ignis is remembering it long after the discussion has changed to scenic routes and the best place to buy a meal. Ignis is the next one to retire for the night, after five minutes of pushing his food around his plate aimlessly and wondering if he should join Noctis while they have a few precious moments alone.

Their voices are distant as Ignis closes the door quietly behind him. The lights are already off, and Noctis has his back turned, his shoulders moving subtly with every steady breath he takes. Ignis can't bring himself to disturb his peace, walking around the room as light footed as he can manage, taking his clothes off and folding them neatly to set aside in his bag later.

Ignis is thankful for the starchy blanket that lies folded on the couch, even if the sofa is a bit scratchy and uncomfortable. He exhales a quiet sigh when he takes his glasses off, folding the arms and setting it down on the dresser with the rest of his clothes. The sound seems to rouse Noctis, who turns to face him in the dark, making out his outline with the help of a tiny sliver of moon peeking through the blinds.

“Ignis?”

“Sorry, Noct.” He apologizes for waking him, standing still and speaking low. Low enough to hear laughter downstairs, a sound that makes him feel inexplicable guilt.

“'M not sleepin'.” Noctis turns towards the wall, tucking his hand under his pillow. “Come over.”

“Sorry?”

“Come over.” Noctis wiggles forward, giving him just a bit more room on his twin-sized bed. “With me.”

“Noct, I don't think that would be wise.” Ignis sounds soft, saying his name like something sweet on his lips.

“Now.” Noctis repeats. It's not like him to order his retainer around, but it's a command that Ignis is obligated to follow, and Noct knows Ignis wouldn't dream of declining an order from the crowned prince.

The room is silent for a few beats, but Noctis can hear the couch shift under Ignis's weight as he lifts himself up. His feet are silent as he pads across the hardwood floor, but the edge of Noct's blanket is lifted up not long after, exposing his bare back to the cold for just a second before Ignis draws him into his warmth. 

“As you wish, your majesty.” Ignis almost sounds teasing, but there's honesty in his voice.

The advisor can feel his hand brought to Noct's lips, his kisses soft over his knuckles. They're kisses of adoration and appreciation, and Ignis's hand twitches as he pushes through the need to pull it away. Having his king deliver such tender administrations makes his heart thud away faster in his chest, but he's not used to being cared for, revered in the way he's used to showering the prince. It's the same principle behind having the king try to help him dress the day before.

Noctis holds his hand there for a moment, drinking in the way his skin feels. He continues to cradle him even after he hears Prompto and Gladiolus return, shutting the door loudly, unconcerned with the figures 'sleeping' in the bed across the room.

Ignis stills when he can hear Prompto whispering to Gladio in the dark. It takes strength not to creep away, determined to keep their affection as close a guarded secret as he can. He knows Gladiolus is already well aware of the inappropriate feelings he has for their prince, but actually being caught in the middle of a tender embrace makes him tense. Noctis can feel it all over, from the way his chest tightens to the way his fingers curl. He's starting to think he knows what Prompto was getting at when he talked about Ignis being tense.

The bed creaks across from them as Prompto and Gladio retire for the night. The fact that they're sleeping together makes Ignis's eyes roll. He almost wants to turn around tease them about it, but he's in no place to make comments. His arms slip a little tighter around Noctis's body, and he can hear the prince sigh happily when he's held against his chest.

They lie there until the noise across the room begins to still. If Ignis focuses, he can hear the sound of Prompto's steady breathing, assuming they've fallen asleep already. Noctis toys with his fingers in the dark, tracing where they bend with his fingertips, his lips kissing over his palms periodically. Once or twice, Ignis closes his eyes, basking in the tenderness of the moment.

Just as he thinks he could let sleep take him, Ignis can feel the prince moving around under the sheets. It's subtle, but not subtle enough not to notice, the curve of his ass settling against his boxers. Noctis is a little too short to reach without some effort on his part, which makes Ignis's eyes wrench open, whispering his name like a warning in the silence.

“Noctis.”

Noct almost stops when Ignis uses his full name, but when surprise fades, Ignis can feel his tongue lick a straight line over his middle digit. He's not sure where he learned that one from, but it makes his lower abdomen feel warm with interest, his cock starting to get hard against his better judgments. Noctis definitely notices, sucking on the digit in his mouth, making Ignis's breath lurch behind closed lips as he tries not to make a sound.

“Noct.”

Ignis sounds wary, but he isn't pulling away, which-- as far as Noctis is concerned-- is a green light to keep going. He noticed the way the others quieted, and knowing they're fast asleep gives him incentive to do whatever he wants. Prompto might have gotten his cock in his mouth first, but Noctis is determined to push the envelope, greedy for more and knowing he'll get what he wants. 

Ignis can feel his index slide past Noct's lips, his tongue grazing over the pads of his fingers slowly. The feeling of his warm, wet mouth starting to suck on his digits makes him groan audibly, his own mouth clamping shut in an effort to hide his interest from the sleeping retainers across the room. Noctis stills, but when he can't hear any movement, he bobs his head on his fingers like he has his cock in his mouth already.

Ignis is almost painfully hard at this point, and the sound of Noctis sucking on his fingers doesn't do him any favours. When the prince presses his ass back against his dick even harder, Ignis carefully removes his digits from Noct's mouth, breathing a soft chuckle when he can hear the prince huff with displeasure. What he doesn't expect is Ignis shifting around him, trying to rummage as silently as he can through the black bag on the ground next to his bed.

Noctis is surprised he can find anything in his duffle bag without having to see it first, waiting impatiently for his advisor to finish searching for whatever he's looking for. He looks up at Ignis's face as the Scientia fishes through his bag blindly, unable to resist the temptation to press soft kisses over his neck while he's still leaned over his frame.

He can feel Ignis shudder as he leaves kisses behind, but his affections are cut short when the tactician pulls away from the bag and settles in behind him again. He can feel his hips move away, and Noctis is almost heartbroken, until warm hands slip under his boxers and grope his ass unexpectedly. It's not something he could've seen his advisor doing, drawing a sharp gasp from his throat, but he can feel Ignis's breath over his ear as he politely tells him he needs to quiet down.

Ignis starts pressing the fingers once in his mouth into his entrance instead, so slowly and carefully, Noctis can pace his breathing into an unsteady rhythm rather than the noise he wants to make. Ignis can see how his chest heaves with every deep breath he takes, entranced by the way he shudders as he fucks his fingers into his opening up to the knuckle. Noctis realizes now that he must've been searching for lube, making him wonder just how prepared he really was.

Noctis turns his face towards the pillow, letting the cotton silence the sounds that threaten to pour past his lips. Ignis strokes his hair with his other hand, silent praise and affectionate touching, his fingers drawing back just to fuck him open over and over at the pace he wants. Noctis is coming undone fast. Ignis can see the red in his cheeks even when his face is buried in his pillow, reminiscent to the night he made his sweet prince cum for the first time.

“I understand it's uncomfortable, but you'll have to bear with me a moment.” Ignis's voice is just barely above a whisper, directly against his ear, like a shared secret he doesn't want the others to hear.

Noctis reaches behind himself, trembling fingers gripping at Ignis's arm, desperate for the little bit of stability. Ignis is almost about to stop and ask if he's okay before Noct turns his head away from the mattress, whining “please fuck me” like he's been edged all night. His voice is just a little louder than intended, and the covers behind them shift, threatening to give him away.

Ignis stops moving his hand, but he curls his fingers gently, fucking his hole with soft and patient strokes. Noctis has to bury his face in the pillow like a vice yet again when his fingers press into his prostate, making his whole body tremble, lurching forward every time he presses just a little too hard.

The bed behind them stops moving. Ignis assumes someone must've been moving in their sleep, and the silence that follows seems to confirm his suspicions. Noctis is still shaking like a leaf, his boxers pulled down around his thighs, his groaning obscured by the pillow between his teeth. Ignis feels like he could relish the sight forever, but Noctis is tugging hard at his arm, whining “please” with his mouth still muffled as best he can.

Ignis slides his fingers out of his ass reluctantly. When he starts busying with pulling his own boxers low, Noctis is turning his slender frame around, sprawling his stomach over the bedsheets so he can keep himself quiet. Watching him turn around, propping up on his knees, arching his back and offering his ass up like a meal has Ignis's cock throbbing. The sound he makes is a low grunt as heat coils in his lower abdomen, his hands grazing slowly over Noct's ass as he ingrains the image to memory.

Noctis has been patient enough. Ignis feels like he should reward him for his forbearance, the bed creaking uncomfortably as he shifts up onto his knees. Ignis has little care for their companions at this point, his eyes trained on the prince underneath him with nothing but adoration written all over his face.

What he didn't realize was that Prompto had been awake the entire time, the palm of his hand groping Gladio's bulge while they cuddled, the Shield's arm around his petite waistline. He almost assumes the others are resting until he can hear the tell-tale sound of Noctis moaning 'please fuck me', followed by the mattress being moved under his weight.

Gladio seemed to hear it too, tensing up almost immediately. Prompto can feel his already hard cock jump with interest under his hand, freezing up just as quietly when he thinks they've been caught in the act. Ironic, considering here he is, catching them in the act. It almost makes him want to laugh if he wasn't so focused on trying to stay silent, allowing them as much a moment of privacy as he can allow while they share a room.

Gladiolus has other plans. His mouth is soft over Prompto's throat as he gently shifts him around, giving him a view of the advisor propping Noctis up on his knees. The sight makes Prompto swallow hard, and Gladio thinks he can almost hear it, his hands careful and slow as he pries Prompto's boxers off. Prom is almost about to protest, nervous they might get caught, until he's watching Ignis start to sink his cock deep in his best friend's ass with the patience of a saint.

Ignis doesn't think he's ever been more in love than he is in this moment, which is a pretty impressive feat. Noctis is so tight around his length, it takes mental fortitude not to cum inside him right then and there. He groans low again, this time even louder, a sound that sends a shudder up Noct's spine like vibration.

Noctis feels unbelievably fucking full. His cock stretches him open in a way he could get used to, and when he bottoms out, Noct's back is arching even further as his knees hold his ass up. He's thankful there's a pillow in the way, because he presses his face into it even harder when the noise he makes is a constant stream of whimpers.

Ignis waits for him to still so patiently, Noctis has to guide his ass back on his cock to get him moving again. He can't risk lifting his face from the pillow and waking their friends, though he has a good feeling they're already awake when he can hear someone spit. Judging from the way Ignis freezes, the tactician realizes they're awake at this point to, but Noctis leans forward like he's trying desperately to fuck himself on his hard cock and Ignis suddenly can't bring himself to care about the room's occupants.

Gladio's got Prompto on his back, face up, the way he likes to see the expressions his sunshine makes. He spit on hole before fucking him on his fingers abruptly, speeding up the pace, determined to catch up like a race to see who cums first. Ignis looks up at the sound and meets Prompto's gaze for a split second of awkward silence, but Prompto's mouth falls open when Gladio licks over his ass between his fingers, and knowing they're being watched doesn't concern him anymore.

Ignis isn't maintaining eye contact for long. When he starts to fuck Noctis wide open, like he's been dreaming about for years, the head of his cock hits his prostate relentlessly and makes Noctis sob loudly on every thrust inward. Ignis almost thinks he's hurting him until the prince turns his head, glancing back at the occupants on the other bed, his face a deep red and happy tears pouring out of his eyes.

Noctis feels Ignis's hand wipe the tears away, caressing his face with tender strokes. Noct is still embarrassed at the constant stream of high-pitched wailing he makes when Ignis fucks him nice and deep, but Gladio's attention is caught briefly by the noise, and he's pulling his fingers out of Prompto's ass so he can replace it with dick.

Prompto meets Noct's gaze while he's being fucked into the sheets, lingering on the pleasured expressions he makes with every thrust. Every time Ignis fucks his ass, Noct's pushed forward, but he tries to lean his hips back to get him in deep again. Prompto's almost jealous of how good it must feel before he's being pulled across the mattress, his legs forced open as Gladio fills him up fast.

It's still not a good place to let him get noisy. There are people sleeping on the other side of the house, and Prompto's a little bit of a screamer. Gladio's hand is firm over his mouth as he sets a steady pace, giving him no time to adjust as he splits his ass open for the second time. He could never get tired of the way Prompto's gaze goes unfocused, drawn up towards the ceiling as Gladio bounces his little frame on his length.

Noctis is, unsurprisingly, the very first to cum. Ignis started stroking him while the prince watched Prompto get filled, more than a little impressed he can take all that cock in one go. Noctis starts to wonder if maybe he's a little bit of a size queen, and the image of Gladio fucking Prompto out while he watches Ignis ruin him from behind makes him cum hard over his abdomen. Ignis continue to fuck him through it, and Noctis has to turn his face back into the pillow as loud sobs wrack his body. Iggy's unwilling to continue fucking him when he's oversensitive, much to his chagrin, but he can't bring himself to complain vocally when he pulls out of his ass and strokes himself to orgasm over his thigh.

Noctis feels spent, but Gladio is still fucking Prompto pretty mercilessly. Ignis can hear the blond boy's whines even with Gladio's hand over his mouth, which more than makes up for his disappointment in having to pull out. He wonders how sweet it'd be to fill him full of cum, but it's a dream he has no problem waiting another day for.

Ignis uses his dirty shirt as a tissue, cleaning up the cum from Noct's thighs. He tries his best to clean it off the covers as well, pretending not to hear the vigorous fucking going on right next to them, until Prompto's making a high-pitched wailing sound and drawing his attention from the prince.

Prompto came hard all over his chest without being touched, and Ignis is impressed in the same way Noctis was. Prompto seems like the kind of guy to have boundless energy, and Gladiolus was fucking the life out of him, using his ass in a way the blond seemed to enjoy-- maybe even more than Gladio did, evidently. Ignis tries to avert his eyes elsewhere, focusing all his attention on the spent prince, who turns around with a heavy exhale and reaches his arms out for Ignis expectantly.

Gladiolus doesn't have any qualms about fucking him through it, even as Prompto's whimpering steadily behind his hand, drooling inadvertently over his fingers as all of his brain power goes toward getting his ass wrecked. Gladio continues to roll his hips up inside him hard for a few more moments before he's cumming inside him, watching it pour out of his ass when he's too thoroughly filled to hold it. It makes him wonder just how tiny Prompto really is. Or maybe he's just almost unfortunately massive, even if Prom doesn't seem to mind it.

Ignis pulls Noctis into his arms almost immediately as he crawls back under the covers, his lips pressing soft kisses over the prince's mouth in the same doting way he kissed him back in Lestallum. He's had a taste of paradise, and never again can he say he wasn't blessed by a deity. Noctis doesn't even seem to realize just how madly Ignis loves him in that moment, curling into his chest, engulfed in the safety his advisor presents.

Gladiolus reaches over, picking Ignis's unclean shirt off the floor, using it to clean Prompto up before Ignis notices.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> theres no smut in this chapter and i apologize for that

The next 48 hours without Gladiolus feels empty, like something significant is missing. He left with a few tense words exchanged with the prince that Ignis only heard from afar, but he can recall Noctis reminding his Shield that leaving is up to Gladio. Ignis is then tasked with reminding a disquieted Prompto that he didn't leave because of him, and his reasons are his own: The things they do for love may be stupid and reckless, but Gladio wouldn't leave unless it was something important. His duty to the king is his priority, and it always has been.

Ignis can also tell Noctis is worried for him, in a way he'd rather leave unspoken. Whatever Noctis said to him before Gladiolus left has him uncomfortable, but even Prompto senses it's just something the prince will have to talk about on his own.

The Regalia feels roomier without him when they finally set off to the ore deposit marked off in Jared's old journal. Ignis feels grateful he can finally stretch out his long legs without intruding on Gladio's personal space, sitting posture perfect in the middle seat while Noctis drives them all towards the Vesperpool.

“The waterfall cave was right around here.” Ignis looks up from the worn journal sitting open in his lap. It's a gift lent out briefly by Talcott, who was all too happy to assist Prince Noctis in his hunt for the illusive mythril, shining up to the king like a little brother seeking approval.

“That means the lake should be somewhere north of here.” Prompto sounds pleased he can be of use.

“Be wary, though. Where we go, the empire seems to follow.”

“Wait... what happened to 'under imperial lockdown'?”

“They all but turned the key and left the gates open for us-- as if waiting for our arrival.” Ignis responds with grave suspicion, tucking the journal more safely away under the Regalia's seat.

Prompto shudders at the gravity of Ignis's statement, but his thoughts flicker back to the chancellor and their last confrontation. They'd been lucky enough that he called off the invasion and let them escape, but the way he called him _lamb_ and stared a little too long at his face made him feel unsettled. 

“And if anyone's waiting for us, I bet it's _that_ guy.” 

“Chancellor Izunia.” Ignis finishes his thought, setting a hand on Prompto's shoulder. 

It feels comforting, knowing Ignis is here in case things go awry. Prompto's clearly not the only one who's noticed the chancellor looking just a little too long.

“Can't complain as long as he lets us in.” Noctis sounds unconcerned. It's a trait Ignis admires and abhors.

“Who's to say he'll let us out?” Ignis warns him, reminding him to stay cautious. “Not to mention we're a man down. Would that the marshal were with us.”

“Oh, yeah. Whatever happened to that guy?” Prompto inquires curiously, sitting up on the passengers seat with his knees, turned around so he can focus his attention on the advisor.

“As I understand it, he's put his tomb raiding on hold to help the hunters with some troublesome beasts.”

“No rest for 'the immortal'.” Noctis quotes the name sardonically, eyes set straight ahead on the winding dirt road.

“Think Gladio will be back anytime soon?” Prompto sounds wistful, turning around in his seat once the pavement turns into rocky terrain.

“Would help if we knew what he was up to.”

Noctis pulls to the side of the road when he spots an overgrown trail, and Ignis can see the frown that settles on his face when the only decent place to park is occupied by an arguing couple. He's doing his best not to seem too out of place, but Ignis knows him far too well. His emotions are written on his face as plain as day, no matter how hard Noctis tries to hide it behind subtle eye-rolling and pursed lips.

The walk to Steyliff Grove is every bit as mystical as Ignis thought it would be. The crumbled ruins that guide the path forward are like something from a fairy-tale, and the sunlight that catches on the water's surface makes the ponds glow a bright gold. It's a place untouched by human hands in a very long time, and Ignis almost feels like he's desecrating a sacred place.

Prompto still has Gladiolus on his mind. He tries to put it aside in favour of taking quick snapshots of the scenery, but even that is tainted by the memory of Ardyn's hand on his leg, telling him he much prefers people instead. He tries to get a picture of Noctis just to erase the image, but he can see the frown in the photograph, and he decides he doesn't like it that much.

“I wonder what Gladio's up to right now.”

“Meeting girls, probably.” Noctis sounds cavalier, but Ignis can sense his displeasure in his jab.

“Son of a bitch!” Prompto hisses sharply, slowing from a slight jog to a brisk walk.

Noctis isn't sure if it's something he said, or the familiar sight of a purple painted classic sitting inconspicuously in the short grass. The low hanging leaves of a willow drape over it like a canopy, and if it were rusted, he might've mistaken it for junk. Something tells Ignis that it was put there on purpose, hidden in the lush foliage for a reason.

When Prompto races ahead, eager to inspect the car more closely, Noctis spits a warning about not touching it that makes him freeze mid-step. Noctis has a good point about leaving evidence on the chancellor's car, but his curiosity isn't satiated by just looking. The car looks so picturesque there, with the wet marshy backdrop and the sun starting to set for the evening, he just has to snap a quick photo.

It's so stealthy, Noctis continues racing ahead. Prompto has to sprint a little faster to catch up, but he's skidding to a stop when the chancellor comes into his line of sight. His familiar red hair catches his eye first, but the chancellor is turned toward them with his entire body, anticipating their arrival just as Ignis predicted.

“Gentlemen.” Ardyn greets them politely, but sarcasm laces his words. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Something in his tone of voice implies that it's not a surprise at all. Ignis severely has his doubts, but before he can cast any judgment, Prompto is rolling his eyes and crossing his arms like an indignant child.

“Ugh. Told you he'd be waiting.”

Ardyn's almost flattered. He'd call it sweet, knowing he haunts Prompto's thoughts when he's not around, but he smiles like he'd been expecting it. Something about the way he looks at Prompto makes the blond feel like he's being stared into, seen on a level he doesn't understand, but Ardyn's eyes glaze over like he's hiding a secret away and Prompto doesn't even know if what he saw was real.

“With my imperial friends, no less.”

“Splendid.” Ignis sounds sarcastic.

Prompto doesn't know if he noticed or not either. 

“But fear not-- I'll put in a good word.” Ardyn turns on his heel, stepping away from the ruins and further into the treeline. “Well? Come on then.”

Noctis pauses visibly like he's unsure if he should follow the creepy old dude further into the Vesperpool, but Prompto's racing ahead before he can think of a smart reply. Ignis is following soon after, a comfortable distance away from the crowned prince, but Noctis can see his eyes set on the chancellor carefully while he tries to piece his motives together.

Prompto doesn't have an aversion to getting closer to the chancellor, though Ignis notices he's sure to keep an arms length away. Ardyn is a very tall man, and seeing Prompto dwarf by his side makes the advisor nervous, like an imposing shadow casting over that Prom doesn't seem to notice. Ardyn walks in long strides through the treeline, amusement barely concealed as the gunman tries to keep up.

“Don't stray too far, lest you get left behind. And surely you'd rather avoid any unnecessary scuffles, seeing as you're now a trio.”

Ardyn's noting the absence of the Crownsguard's dog when he doesn't feel anyone trying to stare a hole through his jacket. Prompto comes to side unaccompanied, untrained and still obedient, and it makes him wonder just how mentally conditioned he is. Just how conditioned he could be. Prompto drips of potential, a nothing that calls him in and consumes him whole.

The threat doesn't go unnoticed to Ignis, who steps a bit more closely to the prince. Ardyn isn't turned around to see him, but something tells him the chancellor senses his hesitance already. The silence is a response that's good enough for him.

“Oh, dear. Touchy subject?” Ardyn seeps condescension, speaking loudly to himself when no one is willing to reply to his remark.

“One we won't discuss with you.” Ignis is hard-pressed, and Noctis reaches out to touch his arm briefly, a reminder to keep his remarks in check.

“Then let's discuss why you're here.” Ardyn changes the subject swiftly, humming to himself like he's thinking. “Hmm... can't be archaeology... mythril, perhaps?”

“This guy's reading our thoughts!” Concern etches into Prompto's face. It earns a slight upturn of Ardyn's lips, though he focuses his attention straight ahead, addressing him as he would a kid.

“Mythril... it's a precious resource, you see. We can't let just anyone get their hands on it.”

When he turns his head to examine the blond's face, Prompto is already looking up at him, trying to discern something. Naturally, people tend to avoid eye contact, but Prompto tries to stare into his irises like he wants to see something. Ardyn leeches from it, drinking in the honest innocence all over his expression, unhappy when Prompto turns his gaze away. He wants him to see what lies beneath, the hideousness they share in common. The whole exchange lasts only a moment in time, but Ardyn seals the image away for later.

“But you'll help us get ours on it, right.” Noctis sounds like he's tired of listening to his spiel.

Ardyn feigns a gasp, coy smile stretched over his face. “I never said that!”

“Of course you didn't.” Prompto plays along, replying with the same dramatics Ardyn does, and it eats away at the chancellor's mind for a few seconds too long.

“Where's the fun in that?” 

Ardyn responds in a low rumble, something dark tainting the edges of his words, so subtle Prompto isn't sure he heard it right. The deep, dulcet tone of his voice makes a shudder creep up the blond's spine.

“I thought you'd rather dig it up for yourselves. Fear not. I'll be but a moment.”

The chancellor departs, leaving them a few dozen feet away while he approaches the woman standing in front of a broken archway. She appears to be guarding an intricately adorned doorway, carved in solid gold, resting atop a steep flight of stairs like a gateway to another world. Noctis recognizes her almost immediately as the commodore Caligo was talking about a few days prior, who referred to him as 'pretty boy' and captured some of Gladio's attention. 

He watches as Ardyn whispers to her, leaning in a little close and speaking to her as quietly as possible. After a few moments of near silence, he's calling back an all clear, waving them closer with a flourish in his arm.

“So. You're the 'new recruits' they sent over for 'special training'. Nice cover, runaway prince.”

Aranea spits the accusation out like a bad taste in her mouth, but Prompto doesn't seem to notice the venom in her voice. Instead, he responds with a happy sounding “thanks!”, making Noctis exhale sharply and mutter “oh, _come on_.”

“At ease, 'recruits'. There's nothing in it for this ex-mercenary to turn you in.” Highwind waves her hand with dismissal. “Let's get this show on the road.”

“Show?” Prompto seems confused.

“Forgot about your 'training'? Well, I'm being paid to escort you...” Aranea doesn't sound impressed.

“I trust you'll be civil,” Ardyn croons from somewhere closely behind Prompto, making the blond jump. He doesn't trust himself to turn around and look him in the eye. “Commodore Aranea Highwind, I leave them to you.”

*

Cindy sends a text to Ignis asking for one last favour, and Prompto is powerless to resist. They need the mythril treated back in Lestallum by someone skilled enough to work on rare material, whom also happens to be the overseer of EXINIRIS energy. They're given a ride to the power plant from Aranea, who politely informs them that they're on their own when word comes back that there are daemons in the energy core.

Noctis shows up in a dirty hazmat suit on loan from Holly, the manager overseeing operations. It's bulky and sealed-off, limiting any breathing room and making him feel sweaty and uncomfortable. Lestallum's heat was unbearable enough on its own, but he can't wipe the sweat from his face with the suit on and he can't feel a breeze to save his life. While he's lamenting the loss of an ice cold shower, Prompto catcalls him from the walkway, whistling when he turns around.

“Lovin' that outfit, Noct!” 

“Why don't you wear one?” Noctis snaps back.

“Well, that's the only one. And if anyone stands a fighting chance in there, it's you.” Ignis almost sounds displeased, and Noctis isn't quite sure why. “Forget about fashion and go.”

Holly's voice is laden with static over the speaker in his ear, expressing how grateful she is that Noctis is willing to clear out the daemons while she treats the mythril. Noctis is just happy they're finally making headway toward Altissia after all these setbacks, though he stops short when she ends the conversation by telling him another hunter already ran ahead. The prince ends the conversation fast, eager to get the job over and done with, already stalking towards the door when he notices the other hunter slouching casually over a pillar.

“So, you my backup?” A familiar voice inquires, his face obscured underneath his hazmat suit.

“I thought we were partners.” Noctis is already dripping with aggravation, exhaling his reply.

“Anyway, place is crawling with daemons.” The hunter changes the subject abruptly.

“Wait a sec. Your voice is familiar...”

“Save the talk. We got hunting to do.” Gladiolus is impatient in his steps. “Now, if we're done with introductions, follow me.”

*

Noctis curses himself out for not realizing it was Gladiolus just by his telltale stature. They take down Goblin and Garchimacera alike, a familiarity in every swing of Gladio's blade, but it's the flirtatious ribbing that crawls under his skin that makes him realize who he's dealing with. Honestly, it's a lot easier to handle than a heartfelt 'hello'. Gladiolus compliments him on his 'pretty fancy moves', and Noctis replies teasingly, no longer as hurt as he was when Gladio decided to leave.

“You're not too bad yourself. I bet you'd make a good sparring partner.”

“Really? You think so?” Noctis can hear the catch in Gladio's breath, a compliment that feeds his ego. 

Noctis doesn't have time to reply before Holly's voice is coming in through the ear piece, cautioning them on the rapidly changing energy readings and giving them a time limit of five minutes.

“I ain't one to leave unfinished business.” Gladio's voice is still flirtatious, but he's mocking him immediately after with his innuendo, a jab that makes Noct's face red. “Can't speak for him, though.”

“Then allow me: I got this.”

“Well, how 'bout you prove it?”

“Gladly!”

The heat pouring off the core is quickly elevating to unbearable. The hazmat suit's fabric clings to his exposed skin, and Noctis feels uncomfortably sticky, but he's unwilling to leave when they still have five minutes left on the clock. Gladiolus has this way of pushing his boundaries in a good way, forcing him to expand his horizons and work harder to achieve his goals. It's cheesy to say, and even cheesier to think about, but it's times like these where Noctis realizes just how much he loves him. Passionately, angrily, intensely.

His blade slices cleanly through the last cluster of daemons that spawn from the ground in a thick miasma. Noct's chest heaves with every laboured breath, carbon dioxide building in his suit, feeling like his chest is growing more compressed with every passing minute. Still, as he makes his way to the entrance of the energy core, he turns to Gladiolus with genuine admiration in his tone.

“Good job out there. You didn't disappoint.”

“When have I ever?” Gladiolus almost sounds offended, following close behind as Noctis strides out of the plant and into the clean night air.

Noctis pries his helmet off as soon as he's a reasonable enough distance away from the energy's radiation, inhaling deeply, allowing his lungs a moment to filter fresh air instead of sweltering heat. The wind immediately cools the sweat on his face and neck, making him sigh with satisfaction when he's finally granted purchase from the warmth. Gladiolus is taking his helmet off right after him, but he works at zipping down Noct's suit first before bothering with his own.

“What an act. 'Save the talk. We've got hunting to do.' Did you really have to be all tall, dark, and mysterious?” 

Noctis sounds like he's close to laughing, but Gladio just smiles and shakes his head with thinly veiled amusement. He lets the prince kick the suit off his legs himself, not stooping to his knees like his advisor would've done. Noct doesn't seem to see a difference, stepping out completely and into the cool night air with a satisfactory sound.

“Thought I'd try out the 'mysterious stranger' shtick. Wheel in and sweep you off your feet.”

“Do it again and next time I'll hit you.”

Gladio's still smiling as he removes his hazmat gear, but Noctis collapses on the ground in a heap of exhaustion. The prince rests his back up against one of the chain-link fences, legs sprawled out and hands resting in his lap. Gladio can see the rise and fall of his chest while he breathes, relishing the night now that he's not getting heat stroke. 

“I'm not carryin' you back, princess.” Gladiolus stretches, his arms high above his head. “I'm tired as it is.”

“Give me a minute.” Noctis closes his eyes, focusing on the wind.

One minute turns to two, and then three. Gladio ends up finding himself a seat next to the world weary prince, who sits slouched against the fence, looking tired but peaceful. Gladiolus almost thinks he's starting to fall asleep until he feels Noct's hand reach over, taking his in a feather light grip.

“Did I ever thank you for the Disc?” Noctis inquires quietly, his fingertips tracing the scars over Gladio's knuckles while he's lost in thought.

“Thank me for what?” Gladio sounds amused, peeking over at Noct's face. “If you mean yelling at you, you're welcome. Anytime.”

“No.” Noctis scowls, and laughter bubbles up in Gladio's throat. “I mean saving my life. You left yourself behind for me. I wanted to say thank you.”

“Twice.” Gladio corrects him. “I saved your life twice.”

Noctis rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Twice. Thanks.”

Gladiolus meets his gaze for a few seconds of silence. He can't tell what emotion Noctis is feeling beneath the deep grey of his irises, but the fingers tracing newfound scars over his hands explain what he isn't willing to say out loud. Gladio leans in, and Noctis blinks as he feels his lips kiss his forehead affectionately.

“Don't mention it. Keeping you safe is my job.” Gladio slips his arm around Noct's shoulders. “It woulda sucked if you died before we could show the Gods what we're made of.”

Noctis sighs through his nose, leaning against his side as he feels the Shield draw him closer.

“I think your dad would be proud.”

Noct can feel Gladio still, the palm of his hand steady on Noct's upper arm.

“I hope so, too.”

*

“Hey, big guy!” Prompto sounds happy to see him, eager to get in his personal space almost immediately once Gladiolus makes his appearance.

“So the 'hunter' who went on ahead...”

Gladio responds before Noctis can say something rude, his arm sliding languidly around Prompto's shoulders.

“The one and only. How ya been, fellas?”

“Not bad! Someone did a number on you, though...” Prompto points out the noticeable second scar that adorns his face, leaning forward on his tip-toes to get a better look at the offending wound. It already looks healed over, but it must've hurt-- especially the part around his eyelid, wincing when he notices the sensitive flesh scarred there, too.

“You should see the other guy.” Gladiolus beams with pride, but quickly changes the subject when he starts to feel a little too modest. “Anyway, I'm back and better than ever.”

Iris makes her appearance right on cue, accompanied from Caem with Dustin, who trails behind her quietly. A look of determination is set upon her face as she stalks up to her older brother, hands on her hips, so intimidating that Gladio's arm retracts away from Prompto's shoulders with embarrassment and a bright red face.

“So, Gladdy. Did you apologize to Noct for storming off like that?” She asks bluntly, putting him on the spot in front of his friends.

“He made it up to me in there.” Noctis almost sounds bashful, coming to his defence shyly.

“The power plant? Oh, so you got your hands on some mythril! In that case, I'll go deliver it to Cid.” Iris offers, no longer brewing with the fury of Ramuh. “You'll probably want to freshen up first anyway. Come meet me in Caem when you're ready.”

*

Umbra is waiting outside the lighthouse when Noctis arrives up the pathway, carrying a message from Luna in the journal tucked away in his satchel. Noct pets his head as he bends down to retrieve it, opening it up to the most recent page.

“ _Waiting for you in Altissia_.”

It's a clear message, but it's brewing with unspoken feeling. Noctis has to pause before he thinks of what to write, responding back with “be there as fast as I can”, tucking the journal back inside Umbra's deep green bag with another gentle pat of his head.

Talcott is bursting with excitement when they exit the lighthouse elevator, excitedly pointing out Cor's presence when he notices Noct's return.

“Look, Prince Noctis! Even the marshal came to say goodbye!”

Cor's mouth is pulled into a grim expression, even despite Talcott's energy. Noctis is making his way down the stairs with his Crownsguard when the marshal starts to address him directly, standing at attention in the presence of the Lucis prince.

“Something I gotta get off my chest.”

“What's that?” Noctis asks, genuinely curious, unsettled by the look of defeat he's never truly seen on the marshal's face before.

“I'm sorry.” Cor sounds honest, unable to meet Noct's gaze, his eyes cast towards the floor as he apologizes from the heart. “I'm sorry I wasn't there for your father. I swore an oath to protect the king, but I wasn't strong enough to uphold it.”

Noctis is quiet, unsure of how to respond. His apology resonates somewhere deep in his core, and Ignis can see it on the prince's face before Cid is breaking the pensive silence. It's solemn understanding, a guilt that cuts far deeper than most could ever understand.

“Ain't nothing nobody could've done to stop what happened.”

“Yeah, I realize that.” Noctis turns his attention away, arms still folded protectively around himself.

“But you need to realize just what you mean to the boys by your side.”

“I do.” Noctis blinks confusedly, turning to look back at his companions.

“Even if they can't solve your problems, you can't hide what's goin' on from 'em. It hurts like hell.” Cid finds himself a seat on the worn out couch while he speaks. “Remember-- those ain't your bodyguards, they're your brothers. Trust in 'em. Always.”

Noctis is quiet long after this revelation. Of course he should've known the others can tell what he's thinking-- they've been friends for so long already, they know who he is, who he really is, and not who he perceives himself to be. It makes him feel like his emotions are exposed, leaving a vulnerable opening for the hurt to crawl in, but in a way it feels kind of good. They want to protect him still, even with his mounting faults. He can't let himself feel now-- he's too close, to Altissia, to Luna, to his Crownsguard, to his friends-- but it's a nice reminder.

*

The rain patters softly as Ravus and Ardyn stand outside the beautifully adorned marble of the Altissian Palace walls. Ardyn stands out against the Castle's aesthetic in a stark contrast of light and dark, the inky black of his clothes a parallel to the white of Ravus's imperial attire. The chancellor has his hand extended, a black umbrella in his grip, shielding Ravus from some of the rain's onslaught as he directs conversation.

“The wedding day arrives, but alas, without the bride.” Ardyn turns his head to the side, a coy smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Of course, we've come for the Hydraean, and you've gone to such lengths to prepare.”

Ravus is already trying to walk away while Ardyn is mid-sentence, brushing off his attempt to antagonize readily. It's something he's grown accustomed to since their short one-sided argument at the empire's stronghold, the one Noctis tore from the ground up for his precious car, destroying hundreds of thousands of gil in damages. Still, he knows better than to leave the chancellor hanging, remembering the sharp jolt of pain that flourished over his jaw when he pressed his face into the cold stone.

“Merely my duty.”

“Ah, but for an outsider to lead the imperial army must be a battle in and of itself.”

Ardyn has the same condescension in his voice he uses when speaking to Noctis, but Ravus stops walking forward, frozen in one place as his words settle in. Ardyn knows the game he's playing. He's almost offended Ravus thinks he's that stupid, that he's unaware of his plans to betray the empire all in the name of his poor little sister, but two can play games and Ardyn plays them much better than this proud Fleuret. 

“You've spoken to Lady Lunafreya?” Ardyn inquires, but he already knows the answer.

Ravus's face softens with surprise when he realizes the chancellor knows more than he's letting on. He's been so careful about it, concealing all traces of worry he has about his family, but he must've slipped up somewhere. Was it when he was being confronted by Noctis? Ravus narrows his eyes before turning around slowly.

“No.” He doesn't lie, but his voice is soft, betraying his concern.

“That obstinate secretary, standing in the way. While you rush off to slay the Hydraean for your poor sister's sake.” 

Ardyn tuts quietly while he circles around the high commander. Ravus refuses to answer, but Ardyn's far used to talking to himself by now. If he wishes to speak with his dear Luna, then speak they shall. The secretary should be meeting with the crowned prince himself to discuss the precious Oracle's well-being, leaving a wide open window for Ravus to convince her to deliver the ring.

“I know the price of the covenant.” 

Ardyn turns to look deep into his eyes, something dangerous lurking just underneath the surface.

*

“Y'know, I've always wanted to go sailing like this.”

Prompto muses aloud, his arms sprawled out over the backseat of Cid's boat. Gladiolus is standing, leaning against the railing across from him, observing the blond quietly while he's immersed in the passing scenery. The smell of sea salt is pungent, but not a bad kind, and he finds the rocking of the boat as they speed to Altissia kind of relaxing. 

“Not many opportunities living in Insomnia.” Gladiolus has to stop his eyes from roving too low.

“Out here, it's just us, and the horizon! It's amazing, it's life-changing!”

“We've quite a ways to go until we reach Altissia, so keep gushing to your heart's content.” Ignis sounds amused, but there's something in his voice that suggests he wouldn't mind the idea. Prompto's excitability always tends to put him in a good mood.

“When we step off the boat, we'll be in a foreign country.” Prompto leans forward in his seat, hoping someone else will feel just as excited as he does.

“The anticipation alone is a foreign sensation.”

“And to think, this is where we were headed to begin with.” Gladio points out, his attention drawn toward the island they're rapidly approaching instead of Prompto's shoulders.

“We've been through a lot.”

Noctis chimes in quietly, just barely above the roar of the engine. He doesn't sound too sad, but he does sound reserved in a way that makes Ignis feel something awful. The advisor slides his hand over, resting it on Noct's knee like a reassuring presence for a few seconds. It's just one second too long to be friendly, but Ignis pulls his hand away, all too aware of the public image they have to present in the face of company. It'd lead to perverse accusations.

“And there's still more to come.” Ignis assures him.

“So, next on the docket is Leviathan.” Prompto doesn't notice how Ignis lingers, but he changes the subject anyway, curious to know more about the purpose of their visit.

“A serpent said to embody the roar and rage of the sea.” 

“We'll have to 'sea' for ourselves.” Noctis replies like he's amused at his own joke, and Ignis's lips quirk up into a smile.

“Can't let Lady Lunafreya do all the heavy lifting.” Prompto leans forward, resting his arms across the seat in front of himself. “You must be so psyched to see her!”

“Luna?”

“Yeah!”

Noctis can feel his heart sink into his stomach. The uncertainty comes creeping up again, crawling out of the recesses of his mind that he tried so hard to ignore. He loves Luna, it's undeniable fact, something he can't feel regret for. But he's young and set to be married to a girl he last saw being taken by the imperial empire, a girl who was hostage for several years, whose only method of communication was by note. He's not the same person he once was. What if she isn't, either?

“Well, we need to make sure she's alright before anything else.” Noctis sounds nervous. He can't help it, but he tries.

“Indeed. Her well-being is our top priority.”

The prince is suddenly glad he has Ignis to back him up, even if tension has been starting to build yet again because of his stupid decisions.

“Don't like this going down on imperial turf.” Gladiolus sounds wary, and Ignis thinks he's nervous for a very good reason.

“You think Lady Lunafreya's in danger there?” Prompto asks curiously, wondering just how safe they are if Luna isn't.

“The empire did invade Lucis for the ring. I have no faith their ruthless ambitions will stop short of harming the Oracle.” Ignis tries to be as objective about it as possible, but Noctis stands up from his seat, pacing carefully back and forth over the deck.

“Without the ring, the Crystal's no more than a rock.” 

Gladiolus mutters under his breath, though it's a very powerful observation. If Iedolas was so insistent on getting his hands on the Crystal that he murdered Noct's father for it, there's no telling what he'd do for the power to bend it to his will.

“Hmm... I suppose...” Prompto muses. “Does anyone know how Lady Lunafreya came to have the ring?”

“It seems likely his Majesty entrusted it to her safekeeping back at the Crown City.” Ignis proposes.

“So she's held onto it this whole time, all the way to Altissia.” Gladio responds, admiration in his voice.

“The ring is important, and so is Leviathan-- but Luna comes first.” Noctis is determined to keep his promise. He'll protect her, whatever the cost.

“You know, I was thinking back to our encounter with Ravus.” Ignis leans back a little further in his seat, though he still seems pensive, crossing one leg over the other. “Do you recall the apparatus on his arm?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Gladiolus mumbles, obviously still hung up on the altercation that caused him to leave with Cor to better himself.

“Seems he lost his old one in the invasion. But in its place, he seems to have acquired a new power.”

“Power?” Noctis asks curiously, wondering if it's anything like his.

“That would help explain how a son of Tanabrae suddenly came to command Niflheim's army.” Gladiolus is visibly disgruntled, his lips pursed tight while he resists the urge to call Ravus some unsavoury names.

“Now that you mention it,” Prompto sits up in his seat a little straighter. “His strength did seem sorta... supernatural. I just chalked it up to the Oracle lineage.”

“His ancestry may be part of it, but that alone wouldn't account for his freakish strength.” Gladio seems far more convinced of this theory than the others do, but it'd explain a lot. Being tossed into the car, for one.

“I wonder what could've happened to him?” Noctis sounds distant, like he's trying to figure out what could've caused a man to lose his entire arm. He tries to imagine the pain of a blade cutting through his shoulder, but it's too much to bear and nothing he could imagine.

“There's a disturbing rumour about: Lord Ravus has taken to brandishing his Majesty's sword.”

“My dad's?” Noctis breathes like he can't believe it, but it's not because he's angry Ravus took it. On the contrary, he holds a hope he might be able to get it back, thankful it hasn't been lost to the ruins of his home.

“And what's the big idea behind that?” Gladiolus sounds even angrier than he did talking about the stronghold incident, which makes Noctis's lips purse with displeasure. Gladio is angry for him.

“That his power is the same as the power of kings?” Prompto tries to offer some sound reason.

“I cannot say for sure, but I have my doubts.” Ignis looks contemplative. “Ravus wears the sword, yet does not wield it.”

“For all his newfound powers, he's still the chancellor's lapdog...” Gladio replies with disdain. “Holding on to the enemy king's sword like some badge of honour.”

“It might help if we knew what he was after.” Prompto sounds insightful in a way that makes Ignis proud.

“Who can say?” Noctis looks grim, gaze turned towards the floor. He wants to be angry, but there's something else in its place. Empathy? Ravus is an asshole, but no one deserves the things he'd seen.

“What are the odds the empire will crash the pool party with Leviathan?” Prompto asks.

“Consider it a guarantee.” Ignis sounds a little pissed off, finding their presence troublesome. “They felled a god to prevent Noct from receiving his blessing, and they'll do so again.”

“But we beat him to the big guy... thanks to our friendly guide.” Prompto refers to the chancellor with some suspicion, but he's not sure what to make of the guy. 

“Never know which way that one's gonna move next.” 

Gladiolus turns, staring down Prompto for a few moments, trying to discern what he means when he referred to the chancellor as 'friendly guide'. Prompto is too trusting. It doesn't sit right with him.

“The chancellor has an agenda all his own.” Ignis observes the quiet tension starting to pique between Gladiolus's stare on Prompto's expression, but the blond doesn't seem to notice the hesitance.

“Sometimes it helps-- like when he called off his army and let us escape.” Prompto sounds like he's not entirely convinced the chancellor is a bad guy. He's had plenty of opportunities to capture or even kill them, and all he's been so far is helpful.

“But he was a creep about it.” Noctis replies, resisting the urge to add a 'duh' at the end of his sentence.

“Well, it feels like he's only helping us because he wants something... I just don't know what.” Gladio finally takes a seat beside Prompto when standing starts to make him feel tired.

“Reckon we'll see him again?” Prompto asks.

“Certainly hope not.” Ignis frowns while he crosses his arms.

“Not your type?”

“No love lost for phonies.” Gladiolus sounds bitter, the talk of the chancellor starting to get to him.

“As Gladio said, his actions are motivated not by altruism, but by self-interest.” Ignis muses, pausing before he continues with his train of thought. “And when he does come to our aid, I see only condescension in his eyes.”

“Yeah, can't argue with that.” Noctis finally replies, trying to get rid of the uneasy pit in his stomach.

“Ever think you think too much?” Prompto turns to face Ignis, a smile playing at his lips.

“Sometimes, but it's preferable to the alternative.”

Cid finally pipes up when the conversation about the chancellor comes to an end, bringing the boat in closer to the island. Gladiolus can see where the sandy beaches stretch into hilly terrain, and Prompto takes out his camera for a few last snapshots of the sea before their arrival in Altissia.

“So, soon you'll have your old man's ring back.”

“Yeah. When we arrive in Altissia.” Noctis sits up straight when Cid is addressing him, but the mechanic doesn't seem to notice.

“Good thing. To him, it was his heritage.”

“Is that what my dad said?”

“Carrying a royal line ain't a task to be taken lightly. For a small thing, that ring can sure weigh heavy. After he became king, I only ever saw his face in the paper.”

“Wait... weren't you at the coronation?” Gladio questions.

“Nah. I was long gone from the city.” Cid replies like he's lost in thought, his eyes roving distantly over the mountain ridge.

“Must've been invited at least.” Noctis tries to sound optimistic.

“Had a fallin' out o' sorts with your old man. Right at the end of the trip.”

“You did?” Prompto sounds surprised. For the way Cid talks about Regis, a fight between them is hard to believe.

“I was given to understand you stayed in touch.” Ignis ponders aloud, remembering the brief conversation they had back in Hammerhead about Regis asking Cid to keep him safe.

“We buried the hatchet years later, but never talked face-to-face again.” Cid sounds regretful. “Shoulda paid a visit while I had the chance. Well, no use dwelling on it now. Got the Regalia in the hold, but ya'll gonna stay in Altissia for a good while, right?”

“Yes, we believe so.”

“In that case, I'll tune her up for ya'll. Not that I'll have much to do, though, with Cindy lookin' after the old girl.” 

“If you say she's good, she must be great.” Something in the way Prompto replies has the Shield feeling an out of place jealousy, but he keeps the look off his face when he notices Ignis watching him carefully.

“She was never afraid o' hard work. Heaven knows she had a hard childhood.”

“A hard childhood?”

“He means her parents.” Gladiolus sounds a little shorter than he intended, and when Prompto turns to look at him, Gladio averts his eyes over the deck and into the ocean beyond.

“Lost 'em both when she was little. Was big enough to understand, though... an' to hurt. But you wouldn't guess that, seein' her now.” Cid doesn't notice the shared looks, trailing off as he talks about his granddaughter proudly.

“Not at all. She's always so cheerful.”

“Well, that oughta tell you how far she's come.”

The conversation delves off into talk about the change of scenery, though Prompto seems enthralled to listen to Cid's gushing about Cindy. Gladiolus is quiet until Cid mentions a man they'll meet in Altissia named Weskham, the owner of the Maagho, a close friend that used to travel with himself and “Reggie”. He refers to Noct's father fondly until they're weaving through a narrow channel, the radio cutting in just barely as they start to pick up Altissia's signal.

“ _The government issued a statement promising that the reasons behind awakening the Hydraean would be clarified in the ceremonial address. Delivering the address will be Lady Lunafreya, who was previously reported dead. This will mark her first public appearance since the violence that befell the signing ceremony._ ”

“Lady Lunafreya's gonna give a speech?” Prompto sounds excited to hear it.

“Sounds like it.” Gladiolus answers him, his arm draping over the backseat.

“Lord knows-- this world could use some wisdom.” Cid starts slowing the boat to a crawl.

“Not much longer now, Noct.” Ignis stands up, incapable of meeting his gaze or stilling the pounding in his heart.

“Yeah.” Noctis doesn't notice. He's lost in a daydream, staring at his feet, trying desperately to detach himself from his feelings for a few minutes.

Gladiolus and Prompto are standing to get a closer look at the sprawling city that peeks around the island, illuminated by the evening sun already. It's even more exquisite than Ignis imagined, the cityscape resting precariously atop a rushing waterfall, a utopia built on the water. It's like a painting Noctis might've seen adorned on the castle walls at one point, and Ignis supposes they spare no expense to keep the city looking pristine for tourism opportunities.

The statues that adorn the watery path are figures of women with wings carved in what looks like stone and marble, and Prompto recognizes them as angels, messengers of the gods. He wonders if maybe that's what Gentiana really looks like when she's not appearing ominously and speaking in riddles, but before he has a chance to ask, a guard is stopping the boat as it creeps into port slowly.

“Sir! What is the purpose of your visit?” The guard waves them to a stop.

“Purpose... uh...” Noctis hesitates before turning his head towards Ignis, muttering “a little help?” under his breath in the hopes the gatekeeper doesn't hear it.

Ignis sighs. “Utterly hopeless. We are scholars of the culinary arts, and we've come to study the renowned cuisine of your fair nation.”

“Is that so?” The gatekeeper's displeasure is replaced with flattered pride. “I wish you an enlightening stay.”

“You owe me.” Ignis leans in low to Noct's ear when the guard is behind them, speaking just above a whisper.

*

The Vivienne Westwood wedding dress is surrounded by a crowd of people, and Prompto's surprised this many people care about fashion. He supposes it must be a metaphor for something much bigger, but the whole thing is lost on him. It's a pretty dress, bathed in blue light and eloquently reminiscent to a flower, but he guesses people around here must be sticklers for aesthetic.

“That's the dress. My word.” Ignis mutters, impressed with the elegance. It's nothing he could make in a lifetime, precise stitching down to the last detail.

“All these people are so happy, and it's all because of one dress.” Prompto doesn't sound confused. He's impressed something so simple could lift people's spirits, making him feel some kind of warmth.

“That settles it. You've gotta make it happen. Become a symbol of the peace.” Gladiolus nudges a quiet Noctis.

Ignis can't think of an earnest reply. He's trying his hardest to appear happy, readily stuffing down the emotions he feels deep, deep down in his core. The Hydraean will awaken, and Noctis would be reunited with his wife, and Ignis would return to being his most trusted advisor until the end of their days on this earth. He doesn't know why the pain in his chest feels like a jagged knife. He knew it was coming.

“Indeed.” He replies quietly, false sweetness masking the feeling that courses through him.

Noctis stares a little longer at the dress.

“I'll think about it.”

*

Weskham greets Noctis like he's greeting an old friend, fawning over him like he's a child still. Noctis can't help but flush with embarrassment when mentions how small he used to be as a kid, calling him “little prince” and gesturing him closer to the counter so they can speak privately. As private as he can with the Crownsguard following close behind, at least.

“So, this is your maiden visit. Enjoying it so far?” Weskham washes food from the counter with a worn cloth, tidying up before he closes for the night.

“This country is part of the empire, isn't it?” Noctis asks, first and foremost.

“You're wary. I understand. But there's no need to jump at every shadow.” Weskham reassures him with a kindness in his voice that Noctis is unused to from strangers. “Just be aware the terms of our independence grant the empire free rein to come and go as they please.”

“We'll bear that in mind.” Ignis replies curtly.

“It's admittedly a one-sided arrangement. Most everything we do requires Niflheim's permission, an they wouldn't knowingly permit the Oracle to appear before the public. How our government spun that one is quite a mystery.” Weskham pauses.

“Admittedly, the high commander's arrival caused quite a stir yesterday.”

“Ravus.” Disdain laces Noct's words as he repeats his name between clenched teeth.

“So soon after they felled the Archaean in Lucis, his arrival fuels rumours that they will next come to Altissia. The empire's not content ruling all the land-- they want the heavens as well.”

“You really think Luna will make an address?” Noctis sounds like he's shy to ask.

“If every recent radio broadcast is to be trusted, absolutely.” 

“Where is Lady Lunafreya?” Ignis questions, though there's something suspicious in the way he poses the inquiry.

“In the city somewhere, but no one has caught so much as a glimpse of her. The media has been conspicuous in its silence on the matter, which speaks volumes about the government's intervention.” Weskham doesn't sound pleased. “That'd certainly explain the rumours of disgruntled imperial officers leaving the city. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

Weskham turns at the same time Noctis does, but Weskham is soon greeting someone named Camelia with a familiarity he showed with Noctis. She's a prudish looking woman, dressed in lavish jade green clothes, a status symbol that doesn't deviate from the trend. It's clear she's an important figurehead just in the way she stands, her arms crossed, speaking with the same pompous disdain he'd heard in Ravus. She's someone who knows how important she is.

“I heard about your distinguished guests.”

“Ah, you've an ear for gossip.”

Word travels fast around here, and Noctis certainly doesn't like it. If the high commander is still around, who's to stop him from showing up unannounced?

“Gentlemen,” the woman identified as Camelia turns to address the king and his Crownsguard, her arms still crossed too tight to be casual. Her narrowed gaze falls on all of them individually, like she's gauging their worth. “I won't waste your time. My name is Camelia Claustra.”

“First secretary of the Accordo Protectorate.” Ignis responds astutely.

“You should know Lady Lunafreya is in our care.” She hesitates, choosing not to mince words. “And the empire demands we surrender her.”

“What?” Noctis has concern all over his voice, his pursed lips contorting into an unhappy frown.

“Yet I am loath to acquiesce unless we stand to profit. Hence I've come to discuss terms... with the King of Lucis.” Camelia's sure to add the last part, making it apparent the discussion is a private affair. “If you are mind to talk, come to my estate.”

With the conversation deemed over, Camelia gestures vaguely towards an armed guard, who follows close behind as she leaves the Maagho behind. Noctis almost feels offended that she felt the need to have protection in the first place, but he guesses he can't blame her if Ravus has already made threats. What's most deterring is the fact that she already knew they were there after only a short while in Altissia, meaning he isn't safe for long.

“She can be oblique at the best of times, but I can assure you her heart is in the right place.” Weskham sounds reassuring, but Noctis also thinks he might be a little fond of her.

“Oh. Okay.” Prompto replies, sounding just as unconvinced as Noctis feels.

“At any rate, you must be weary from your journey. Might I suggest you seek beds for now and ponder matters anew in the morning?”

“Yeah, I think we'll do just that.” 

Noctis tries to sound enthusiastic for sleep, but he's still not sure it'll come easily tonight. For the most part, he wants to get out of the public eye, away from the open and into a sanctuary. He's starting to feel like there's someone watching him, and it's getting harder and harder to pretend it's just nerves.

*

Ignis buys Noctis the suite. It's not an expense he'd normally make, with the massive differences in cost, but the king has dark circles under his eyes and he looks like he could use a pick-me-up. A comfortable bed to himself should help him sleep, and it's imperative he gets a full nights rest for tomorrow's confrontation with the Hydraean. 

Gladiolus spends at least five minutes trying to coax him into joining him for a drink at a bar across the canal, but Noctis isn't having any of it. Honestly, Ignis is almost relieved, until Prompto decides to volunteer himself in his stead. Instead of worrying about the prince, he gets to worry about Gladio doing something reckless with Prom.

“How about you, Iggy. You look like you could use a drink.” Gladiolus extends the offer, but Ignis knows it's just to be polite.

“Yeah, Ignis.” Noctis turns his head towards his advisor swiftly, volunteering him in the same tone of voice Ignis used with Iris when he insisted the prince go shopping. “It'd do you well to get some fresh air.”

Ignis shoots him a glare, but it's a half-hearted expression when his response was that clever. Part of him wants to laugh at how he turns the tables so deftly.

“I'm afraid my presence is more valuable here at the moment.” Ignis tries to sound bland, but Gladio sees through the veil, scoffing as he moves around them.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep it in the bedroom, boys.”

Noctis glares at his Shield when the man tousles his hair on the walk by, Prompto following close behind with a visible bounce in his step. It's all too easy to insult him, but Noctis is tired, and Ignis can sense just how exhausted he is when there's no snarky quip after Gladio's mocking remark.

Noctis doesn't want to ask, but the way he stands there, looking up at his advisor with his keycard in the lock, says everything his mouth doesn't. The thing he loves most about his advisor is that he doesn't need to say it for Ignis to just know-- and when he leaves his door open, he can hear Ignis closing it quietly behind him, engaging the lock for posterity's sake.

Ignis isn't sure if Noctis wants to talk, but something tells him he won't. The words he spoke during the first night are like a disembodied voice in his head. “Not now”. 

“I shouldn't dwindle, Noct.”

Noctis sits heavy on his king sized mattress, crossing his legs and clasping his hands on his lap. As hard as the prince tries to seem serious, his hair sticks up in odd directions where Gladiolus ruffled it, and Ignis can't help but crack a smile when he ends up looking adorable.

“It'd be in bad taste if someone were to see me enter without leaving.” Ignis tries to sound cautionary, but his tone comes out softer than he intended. 

“So? I don't care.”

“I care.”

Noctis sighs, loud and obvious, expressing his displeasure with a roll of his eyes. The prince rolls off his bed, walking sluggishly across the room, drawing the blinds closed.

“That better?”

“If someone didn't see me enter through the front door, yes.” Ignis raises his eyebrows like he's almost surprised at the way he snaps with irritation, trying to defend his need to keep him close.

“Yeah, 'keeping a low profile'. Got it.” Noctis crawls back on his bed, though he sprawls out on his stomach this time, looking up at his advisor expectantly. “You can sit, you know.”

Prompto might've laid out beside him, but Ignis feels out of place. He takes a seat at the edge of the bed like he's out of his element, two feet away and feeling like he's separated by an ocean.

“Is there something you wish to discuss while I'm here.” Ignis asks, figuring there's no harm in trying to open him up.

“Not really.” Noctis hesitates, but he tries to take Cid's words into consideration. They know you're hurting. “But I figured I'd ask you for some of your sage advice.”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you think marrying Luna is the right thing to do?”

Ignis seems to freeze in time while the wheels in his brain turn faster. Though his facial expression doesn't change, Noctis can tell that he's thinking very hard about something, clearly having to deliberate his answer first before replying. Noct almost wants to tell him not to lie about the answer, but Ignis clears his throat, composing himself in a short time.

“I don't think that's something I can answer. That's something you need to decide on your own, I'm afraid.”

“What do you think, though?”

The advisor's mouth shuts while a sinking feeling starts to open up in his gut, swallowing his emotions whole, a cavernous abyss that tries to take hold of his better judgment. Noctis is asking him about how he feels regarding his arranged marriage. Ignis isn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

“It's an important symbol of the peace. Its intention is to bring both kingdoms together and unify your countries in peaceful resolution.”

“You're not answering my question.”

Ignis turns his face away from the prince while he thinks. Noctis is far too observant for his own good, or maybe he's just waiting for the answer he wants to hear. What they want and what they need are two very different things.

“I think your father knew what was going to happen.” Iggy purses his lips tightly, like he doesn't want to broach the subject just yet. The wounds are still tender, too fresh to touch. “I think he made those agreements because he wanted you out of the city, and he wanted to see Lunafreya safe.”

Noctis is so quiet, Ignis isn't sure if he touched a nerve. When he looks over, the prince appears lost in his thoughts, not as disquieted as the advisor thought he would be.

“So you don't think it's a good idea.”

“I still think that's something you have to decide for yourself.” Ignis rubs his hand over his back carefully, trying not to cross the line. “It's not a contractual requirement anymore, in light of the empire's betrayal, but it's still a symbol of hope throughout Lucis. Whether you decide to honour your father's wishes or not, the choice lies within you.”

Noctis sighs with his chest, heaving a deep breath when Ignis starts talking about honour. There's nothing he'd like more than to make his father proud, but honouring is harder than he ever thought it could be. Honour requires sacrifice, and this sacrifice is the hardest one he's ever had to make.

It doesn't feel like it's the end, but something sorrowful in his mind tells him it has to be. Lunafreya is waiting for him just a few miles away, and he has a promise to keep.

Ignis parts with a chaste “goodnight”, turning the lights off behind him so Noctis doesn't have to. He can hear Noct reply with a quiet “sleep tight”, but he can't hear the prince move from the bed when he closes the door behind him.

When he's alone in his bathroom during a long hot shower, Ignis sits on the bathtub floor and muffles his tears with the sound of running water.

*

Gladiolus insists on buying Prompto a glass of something expensive, but Prompto's just surprised there's something that pricey on the menu. The place Gladio chose is kind of like a dimly lit dive bar with better drinks, something characteristic for him, but out of place for Prompto. He feels like he sticks out a little too much among the bar's patrons, clearly just above legal drinking age and not at all like the regulars.

The drink he chooses is a new kind of wine first, something he read off the menu outside and decided he wanted. When Prompto sneaks a glance at how much a glass costs, he almost chokes on it, sputtering a little back into his cup. Gladiolus assumes it's from the taste, his laugh boisterous and drawing attention like the life of the party.

Prompto just should've known that Gladio would've gotten distracted flirting with a cute waitress, who looks at his chest a little long and laughs too loud at jokes that aren't funny. Prom threw back the rest of his wine, relished the way it felt warming up his insides, and ordered another one on Gladio's tab while the Shield was distracted with an embellished story about a behemoth named Dead-Eye.

Prompto's sure to keep tipping back drinks while Gladio gets distracted on yet another tangent, and the gunman's sure he only looked at his phone for a second before he glances back up at an empty table. The waitress seems to have wandered elsewhere, and Gladiolus left nothing behind suggesting he was coming back.

Maybe it's the alcohol making his brain feel like jello, or the compulsion to get up and move, but Prompto sighs and figures he must not have heard Gladio say he was leaving. Zoning out into his phone like that was pretty intense, but he's just a little too drunk to care, sparing a glance around the quiet room in the hopes that he'd catch a glimpse of Gladio. Of course, he's nowhere to be found, and Prompto walks out into the cool night air with a deep breath.

The salt around here reminds him of the Quay, early morning jogs and overpriced food. The lampposts that adorn the walkways and reflect from the canal changes the atmosphere, and Prompto might think it was kind of romantic, if he wasn't trying to focus on walking straight. He can't imagine how embarrassing it'd be if he fell in, or even worse, if someone saw him do it.

The alcohol is making him think differently, but he can't say it's that bad. The bright side of the situation is that when he realizes the buildings around him aren't familiar, the wine makes him feel more like laughing rather than panicking. If worst comes to worst, he'll have to face his social anxiety and ask a ferryman for a lift to The Leville. He could've sworn he didn't take one to the bar, which only makes him more confused.

As beautiful as Altissia is in the night, the weaving paths are easy to get lost on. Once or twice, Prompto stops to look around, trying to find an identifying landmark somewhere. There was a flower vendor during the walk, and if he could just find that, he could find the way home relatively easily.

Prompto takes a sharp turn, only to hit his face off someone's chest when he isn't watching where he's going. He's moving too fast to stop himself, jumping with mortification when he almost tumbles forward. Prompto reels back, his face red with humiliation, hands raised in a submissive gesture while he apologizes profusely.

“Not safe to be stalking the streets at night.” The chancellor's voice is as smooth as warm caramel. “Never know who you'll run into.”

“Oh, it's you.”

Ardyn can't discern if it's disappointment in his voice that he's hearing. He turns his head to the side curiously, lips curling into a soft smile. Prompto's never noticed before, but when he looks up at Ardyn at a closer distance, he can see the amber in his eyes almost seem to glow under the warm incandescent lamplight. 

“Hoping for someone else?”

“I lost Gladio. Just trying to find my way back to the hotel, is all.”

Prompto replies without thinking, responding automatically when the alcohol lowers his guard. He almost feels a strike of fear when he realizes that he just admitted he's lost and alone to the enemy, but Ardyn doesn't seem malicious. From what Prompto can see in his hazy grip on reality, Ardyn looks like he's pondering thoughtfully, a helpful guide in a time of need like he has been the past month.

“Lucky for you, I happen to know the shortest route back to the Leville. Why don't I offer my services in exchange for your company.”

Ardyn seems polite enough in his request that it doesn't set off any alarms in Prompto's head. The wine makes him feel friendly, clearly an excitable drunk, and his personal space is virtually non-existent. When the chancellor offers his arm, Prompto takes it without thinking, using him to keep from stumbling.

“Lucky me, I guess.” Prompto doesn't sound convinced.

“Why don't you tell me what happened. Your secret is safe with me.”

Prompto's not sure if he should answer. The more he thinks about it, the more pathetic he feels, and he doesn't want to seem like a pushover in front of the empire's chancellor. It doesn't seem to matter, because the man sees through him, every silent pause and hesitation an answer in itself. Ardyn looks like he smiles wider, but Prompto's not sure if it was a trick of the light.

“They must've been special to render you speechless.” He sounds almost patronizing, but Prompto plays it off like he's joking, letting it roll right off his shoulders.

“We're not fighting. I just got lost, that's all.” Prompto stares straight ahead.

Ardyn hums like it's his turn to be unconvinced. “Sounds quite unbecoming of a man to leave his companion alone while he leaves with a woman.”

Prompto hadn't considered that he left with her. Ardyn can tell by the twist in his facial expression that the seed of doubt has been planted, potential waiting to blossom and germinate. 

The blond jumps visibly when the chancellor is patting his arm with the other hand, an action that catches him off guard in its soft reassurance. It almost seems like he cares, or at least, does a good job putting up fronts. Prompto feels like the latter is more likely.

“I can assure you my intentions are nothing but chivalrous.” Ardyn's hand lingers over his shoulder, and Prompto wonders just how true that statement is before he feels it draw away.

The brief touches make him feel good. It's a praise he hasn't gotten in quite some time, making him feel whole, and it's a lot easier to ignore the guilt when the drinks make him feel warm. It's horribly wrong on several different levels, but he soaks in the physicality like a sponge.

Ardyn is enthralled he responds so well to affirmation, already eager to please. It's a fact he stores away for later, deep inside, where the rest of the ugliness coils and undulates like a heartbeat. He wants to drain the sunshine out of his soul with a straw, but it can wait. There's plenty of time, and he'll take all that he needs.

The chancellor is guiding him through the empty streets carefully, explaining something about the artist of the statues that Prompto ends up tuning out. Ardyn feels warm and his bulky clothes feel like something he could sink into, but he doesn't have time to enjoy the thought in his wasted train of thought before he can hear Gladio calling his name from somewhere behind.

Gladiolus picks up the pace as he stalks forward, but Ardyn doesn't turn around to greet him. The Shield has rage written all over his voice anyway, obviously suspicious of his intentions.

“What are you doing with this guy?” Gladiolus sounds pissed in a way that makes Prompto pause, genuine concern flitting over his face.

“He said he'd get me to the hotel. I couldn't find you.”

“You told him where we were staying? _Dammit_ , Prompto.”

“Oh, come on.” Ardyn sounds as condescending as ever while Prompto detaches himself from his side. “You really think I wouldn't have figured it out on my own? For shame. I didn't expect you to sleep on the street, after all.”

“Let me guess: You're here to help.” Gladiolus sounds unimpressed, rolling his eyes, the fuse to his temper getting shorter and shorter.

“On the contrary, I was here to help the _friend_ you _left behind_.” Ardyn's words cut Gladio deeper than he expected. Watching the Shield flinch with the impact of his statement makes him feel delighted.

Prompto seems desperate to dissolve the growing tension before a fist fight starts. It's kind of funny to think about, the king's Shield and the empire's chancellor throwing punches, but his laughter dies out when he can see the fury waiting to explode over Gladio's expression.

“Uh, and I should thank you for that, but I think Gladio's got it from here.” Prompto tries to make it clear that his presence is causing a rift, which the chancellor seems to catch onto.

Ardyn smiles, but there's something hidden away that Prompto can't figure out. There's a lot about the chancellor he can't figure out, and he's still thinking about it when he's watching Ardyn recede, back to the darkness to do whatever chancellor's do late at night.

Gladiolus, on the other hand, looks livid.

“What's wrong with you? You did all but tell him where Noctis was sleeping!”

“Look, if he wanted to kill us, I'm pretty sure we'd be dead.” Prompto raises his hands again, this time like he's trying to defend himself from the accusation. “I just needed help, that's all. I couldn't find you.”

“So you ask someone for directions. You don't hang off the chancellor's arm like a fucking pet.”

Prompto looks hurt in a way that also hurts Gladio. The empathy hits him like a tidal wave, pulling him under before he can catch his feet. The shame burns him more than the embarrassment does, but Gladiolus is reaching out to touch his shoulder with a familiar hand, genuinely sympathetic in his apology.

“Look, I just don't want him to hurt you.”

Prompto has to resist the urge to tell him he can take care of himself. The truth is, he can't. Gladio is right, and distance is a good thing. The chancellor may seem friendly, but it's not 'altruistic'. 

Prompto barely complains when Gladio's slinking an arm around his waist, but the Shield is quiet as he walks him back to the hotel room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long too oops


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is super long (34 pages or so) but also super sad and really gay

“Listen well.”

King Regis stands in front of his throne, hands clasped in a way that Ignis would've called regal. The palace glows with a dim blue light filtered through the window, leaving his throne room pretty, but empty feeling.

“A king cannot lead by standing still. A king pushes onward always, accepting the consequences and never looking back.”

Regis bends at the waist to speak more at level with the 6-year-old boy trying so hard to look refined in his presence. His mouth curves into a softer, warmer smile, and suddenly the palace doesn't feel so empty anymore.

Ignis knows his words are said with seriousness, but the king addresses him like a respected member of his service, and not at all like the outsider he felt like just a short time ago. Being addressed by the king intimidates him, too afraid to speak lest he stutter.

“That said, a king can accept nothing without first accepting himself. Should he stand still, I ask you to stand by and lend him a hand-- as his friend, and as his brother.”

Regis steps aside, and Ignis watches with enamoured curiosity as a baby faced young boy comes forward. The king places his hand upon the child's back, ushering him forward, and Ignis feels the first pang of affection swell in his tiny chest.

“Please, take care of my son.”

Noctis almost looks like he's about to cry, but Ignis stretches his hand out politely. The way the prince's hands feel when they wrap around his is something new, and Ignis watches with strange affinity as his expression shifts into a happy smile. It's a smile that fills him with devotion, this need and desire to be his friend.

_I'm afraid..._

_I must ask your forgiveness._

*

The cold metal of Ravus's artificial hand touches Luna's shoulder, disrupting her moment of quiet contemplation. The feeling is so cold and unfamiliar, Luna turns her head swiftly, her face melting as the face of her brother looks down on her with asseveration.

The effort it takes to raise her head makes her feel dizzy, drawing her gaze to her clenched fist. The Ring of the Lucii is eating her alive, and she knows she doesn't have much time left now. Her borrowed time is coming to an end, and the powers of the Oracle are waning. The end is so close she can taste it, and all she wants now is to let it consume her, allow her reprieve from this pain and take her into the beyond.

Luna extends the ring towards Ravus, outstretched on her open palm in a gesture so submissive it makes the High Commander stagger backwards. It's the sight of unbridled power, the same power that stole his arm and life so effortlessly, offered toward him in the shaking hand of his dying little sister.

“I beg of you.” Luna's voice is laboured between breaths. “Please, see the ring to Noctis on my behalf.”

Ravus can't look at her. He can't bring himself to listen to his sister's request, spoken between shaking breaths as she expends what little energy she has left. The commander knows she's tired, but she can't rest yet. This was her blessing and burden to bear, hell to his hatred for the king that stole her from him.

“Already, my flesh has begun to fail me.” 

“No, I cannot accept it.”

The pain Luna feels when he denies her last request registers on her face like a slap, tears welling in her eyes when she realizes the end of her journey may be much closer than she thinks. If Ravus won't deliver the ring to Noctis, she would've failed her purpose to save their star, her promise to the late King Regis, and most importantly her beloved best friend.

“By your hand, it must be done. To deliver the ring and inspire the king is your calling. You mustn't fall.”

Luna looks to the floor when Ravus takes a tone much more stern with her than she's used to hearing from him, but his words resonate within her like a struck match. She wants nothing more than to believe him, but she's so very tired, just standing takes a toll on what little life she has left.

“But... I lack the strength to go on.”

Ravus isn't convinced. He steps forward, collapsing to his knees, taking her hands in his like a prayer to her temple. The way he looks up at her betrays a submission she's never seen in him before, his heterochromic eyes soft and serious as he tries to push her forward. He can't have her giving up now, not when she's so close to the end, so close to being his again he can see it in his sights.

“Find it, Lunafreya. You have the will.”

Luna looks solemn as she allows his words the time to sink in. There was a time, long before this, when he tried to convince her she was throwing her life away. When he would've done anything to keep her from dying for him, trapped away in his safety forever, protected from the hands of the empire just outside her door. His insistence now exposes the kindness in his heart, the reserved place he has for her, his last surviving family member and his only true ally.

“Go to Noctis. Show him the truth of your heart.”

Ravus continues holding her hands in his long after she starts to weep, a silent oath to protect her until the very end.

*

Noctis feels like he's being interrogated. The palace is well guarded, which he supposes is for good reason, but the way the guards barricade the door and stare them down makes him feel like he's under a microscope. It's like they're waiting for movement to have a reason for running him through, or even worse, hand Luna to the empire.

They must be making quite the offer in return for her safety-- or some pretty intense threats.

“Thank you for coming.” Camelia sounds like she's addressing a class full of students than a prince and his retainers.

“No sweat. First things first... what did Weskham tell you about us?”

Noctis seems a bit more forceful than Ignis thinks is necessary, but Camelia smiles and answers like she doesn't seem to notice. From somewhere behind Ignis, he can feel Prompto press up against his arm, like a cautionary presence hiding behind him for sanctuary.

“He didn't even tell me you were here. _Fortunately_ , I have my own ways of finding out. Though circumstances have changed, both the king and the Oracle are finally in Altissia.”

Ignis notes that she sounds as though she'd been anticipating their arrival for some time. It's likely the late king sent notice beforehand, but he's not sure how promising that information would be. Just how much did Regis know? How much was he hiding from all of them?

“You said that you had Luna in your care.” Noctis has his arms folded tightly. “Doesn't that pose a risk to your nation?”

“Is the king concerned for our relations with the empire?” Camelia almost sounds amused. “But it's true, the Oracle is a risk-- one we are prepared to shed with. Whether we do so depends on you.”

The secretary leans forward, hands clasping over her desk. Noctis decided to stand rather than pull up a too-soft red seat, and he still manages to feel intimidated as she looks up at him with pursed lips.

Noctis is also surprised his Crownsguard has managed to stay quiet for this long, but he guesses this could be considered something formal, though there's guards scrutinizing his every move. He's wondering if they're here because Camelia thought he would get upset over Luna.

“Now, let me ask some questions of my own. Why does the Oracle seek to awaken the Hydraean?”

The prince almost wants to turn around and ask Ignis, but he knows it'd be in poor taste if he were to start consulting his advisor instead of speaking for himself. It's one of those touchy things that made being a king kind of hard: social cues and unspoken rules. The truth is better than nothing at all, so he bites back his suspicion and responds with little hesitance.

“She wants to forge a covenant so I can receive Leviathan's blessing.”

Camelia laughs, but she doesn't sound amused this time. Her hands unfold while the conversation drifts into much more serious territory, and Ignis is impressed Noctis can stand there under her penetrating gaze without so much as flinching.

“The answer I wanted to hear. And yet, king or not, it can't be a simple affair for you to receive a god's blessing. Let me be frank: the potential chaos worries me. You know better than most what took place in Lucis with the Archaean. Tell me, what happened?”

“I met Titan, and he gave me his power.” Noctis tries to sound as blatant as possible. It is an interrogation.

“Just like the legends. Though the empire doesn't like the way that story goes. Even as we speak, they mobilize their forces. It seems there's no avoiding chaos.”

Noctis is a little surprised she readily admits to knowing about the empire's intentions. He's also surprised she's sharing this knowledge with him in the first place, and knowing the empire is readying their troops means they intend on invading Altissia whether they hand over Luna or not. Noctis can see now why they didn't just give her up when the empire started making demands: They lose either way.

“It will most likely come to war. However, I don't care to host a battle on my soil, the gods and the empire be damned.”

“Would be a disaster if battle took place in the city.”

“Indeed. We must prepare to evacuate our citizens.”

“No doubt about it.”

“We're in the midst of making plans. And it was to discuss your involvement in them that I called you here. Without further ado, let us talk terms. If you wish to hold the rite, you must ensure my citizens' safety and aid in their evacuation.”

Something tells him the empire didn't think to make the same offer. Camelia is a person motivated by gain, but she cares about the safety of her people. 

“Alright. I'll do as you ask.”

“I'm pleased to hear it.” Nothing Camelia says ever sounds pleased, but Noctis is starting to wonder if it's just the way she speaks. “As long as the people's safety is assured, I have no qualms with your rite. And that is not all. Once the rite has begun, I will not be accountable for what follows. You are on your own.”

“Not a problem. We know how to take care of ourselves.”

“Thank you. I'm sorry we cannot do more.”

The secretary stands from her desk, walking around the wooden table to give her guests a more formal farewell. Camelia doesn't extend her hand out for a shake of agreement, but the way her shoulders draw back tells Noctis that it's time to leave. The goodbye she gives the rest of his retainers is little more than a brief glimpse.

“But as I'm sure you are aware, few armies can stand against the might of an imperial fleet. That is all for the terms. To review, you are to ensure our citizens' safety and engage the empire. Do we have an agreement?”

“Alright. Let's fight together as allies.”

“Allies? Such a vote of confidence. Well, you can trust us to do our part and keep the Oracle safe. A final warning, though I doubt it'll come to it. My duty is to my citizens. Should any harm befall them, there will be a reckoning-- for both king and Oracle.”

Noctis wants to threaten her back. There's something in the way she looks at him that doesn't sit right, like she's not sure he can handle the pressure. Without gritting his teeth, Noctis places his hands on his waist, shoulders drawn back with confidence as he empathizes with her rather than telling her off.

“Alright. You do what you must for your people.”

“You're just like your father.” For the first time since he's met her, Camelia sounds... pleased. Happy is too strong a word, but she says it like a compliment.

“Thanks.”

“You've made the right decision.”

“Madam? It's time.” An Altissian guard speaks lowly from the doorway, cutting the discussion short.

“Assign three of your own for the evacuation effort. Whom you choose is up to you.”

The choice seems already made for him. The Crownsguard, who have been standing silently behind him since arrangements began, have their lips pursed shut and their faces drawn into intense concern. The journey is coming to a head now, and there's no turning back from here.

“According to our intel, the imperial fleet will be four warships strong. Steel yourselves for a full-scale battle. I'm glad we could talk. We can each act in our own interest to our mutual benefit.”

Something in the way she talks reminds him of Ignis, but she's far too cut throat. She shakes his hand a little too hard, but all Noctis can think about is forging the covenant and finally saving his bride to be.

*

“Dear friends,” Luna addresses the massive crowd of people standing outside the citadel's gates, her hands clasped and her voice cascading over the thrall of Altissian citizens with fondness.

“I stand before you today with little hope the words I speak shall reach beyond these walls.”

Noctis is trying to weave through the sudden influx of bodies pressing in closer, each one desperate to get a closer look at the woman once pronounced dead. The Crownsguard are waiting for him outside, prepared for a battle, and the prince is determined to join the fray before Lunafreya can come to harm at the hands of the empire. Any second now, they'll be flying overhead, raining fire and destruction in the hopes of destroying Leviathan before the king.

“For slowly, but surely, the Light fades from our world. And as it does, the shadows shall loom ever longer, until all succumbs to darkness.”

Noctis slows to a stop once he reaches a small clearing in the crowd, less compacted in an area not so dense with people. He listens to Luna address the audience with a heavy heart. If Lunafreya says the Light is fading, it must be true. Something dark is coming, something much darker than anything he'd faced so far.

“Darkness that evokes terror, hatred, and sorrow in the hearts of men. The ashes of Lucis... a dream of peace twisted into a nightmare of death and destruction, claiming innumerable lives and leaving myriad souls to suffer.”

Luna's speech is a lot darker than Noctis was anticipating. He can tell there's still plenty of hurt for her, and it makes him wonder just how much she's seen since her departure from the Insomnia Citadel on signing night. She looks tired. It's a tired he's familiar with.

“Luna...”

“Yet I beg you, do not surrender to despair. Have faith, for our gods watch over us. By their blessings, by the Stars that light the heavens above, our world will be delivered from the perils of the dark. I stand before you here, in Altissia, to call upon Leviathan, Goddess of the Seas, spirit of the deep.”

The chatter begins as soon as she says 'Leviathan'. People are clamouring to know why she would risk their lives and homestead, unable to understand how imperative the rite is to the safety of the world. Noctis ignores the rapidly growing tension among the crowd, his eyes focused ahead on the fair skinned woman who holds the key to life itself.

“By the sacred rite, I will commune with the Hydraean. But first, I offer you my solemn vow. On my honour as Oracle, I will not rest until the darkness is banished from our world and the Light is restored.”

The clamouring starts to die down as she finishes her address, and Noctis is impressed at how quickly she managed to quell the crowd. People in the fray start clapping, and Noct can hear people blessing her, wishing her well, accepting the sacrifice they have to make in the name of peace.

“Bless you.” Luna bows, earnest gratitude in her tone.

The words she speaks gives him the will to keep going forward. Hearing all those people readily give up their home in the name of forging the covenant makes him realize the gravity of the sacrifices people have made-- not just for him, but for life itself. The will to begin again, start anew, a hope for the future.

Lunafreya catches his gaze from the podium like a happy surprise, a polite smile adorning her face as she nods a quiet greeting. Noctis nods back, and suddenly, he feels like she knows what he's thinking. It's been far, far too long without her. It feels like greeting an old friend, like nothing's ever really changed in the last twelve years.

Luna walks away from the crowd, retreating to the safety of the citadel, her transportation to the altar already prepared. A familiar buzzing in his pocket has him reaching blindly for his phone, unable to catch up to the Tanabraean princess before she's gone.

“Noct, the empire's here.” Ignis sounds worried over the receiver, and for good reason.

Noctis turns toward the sky, and without trying to be subtle, imperial ships float menacingly above in the near distance. They're just low enough to be seen entering the premises, but high enough that he can't warp there, clearly a strategic move to get his attention that sets him at edge.

“I can see 'em.”

“Drop ships are closing in on the port. Look for a vantage point to approach them.” 

“Okay. Look out for the citizens.”

“We got 'em covered.” Gladiolus's voice responds to his direction.

“So... it begins...” Prompto sounds almost as worried as Noctis feels.

*

Luna's voice echoes through the empty Altissian streets in a haunting refrain as she calls to the sleeping Leviathan. Noctis can hear her while he stands in the streets devoid of life, strange sorrow when he realizes he's the only one who'll hear it. 

Except for Leviathan, which replies from the depths of the sea in a voice too wrong to be remotely human, a cacophony of intermingling sounds in a language only they can understand.

_“What fool mortal dares break the slumber of the Tide?”_

“It is I, Lunafreya, blood of the Oracle! Goddess of the Seas, I beseech you: enter into this covenant that the King might reclaim the stone!”

It's so silent for a few beats, Lunafreya isn't sure if the Leviathan is going to respond to her plea. Luna is almost forced backwards by the spray of mist that envelops her entirety, soaking her with cold water as Leviathan rises from the depths like a spear.

Its long, scaly body extended towards the heavens, fins flared like the wings of an angel depicted on a marble carving outside the city gates. The cry it wails pierces Luna's eardrums with an angry sound, but she digs her trident into the stone, a leverage to brace against when ocean water sloshes up over the altar's stone floor.

_“This wretched pile of bone and flesh, ignorant of that which governs All, come to requisition the might of a goddess?”_

“I do.”

The empire hovers close by, but they aren't sending in troops yet. Lunafreya would wonder why if she weren't focused entirely on facing this angry, towering creature, courage in her heart and determination set on her face. The Leviathan peers down at her like it's examining her curiously, almost as if deciding whether to devour her alive now or later.

“Noct. The Hydraean has awoken.” Ignis chimes in over Noctis's earpiece.

“Awoken?”

“Almost there. We'll join you when we're done.” Gladiolus sounds pressed.

“The empire has the Hydraean surrounded. Hurry, Noct!”

“I'm on it.”

“Time to lend the Hydraean a hand!” Prompto replies with an optimism Noctis needed to hear.

The Leviathan rears its head up, bellowing high into the clouds, a grating noise even worse than nails on a chalkboard. It's a sound that makes a tremor slip through Noctis's body as he draws nearer to the altar, but the goddess is loud when she speaks to Lunafreya with disdain. Noctis realizes what they mean now when they refer to it as 'a god embodying the fury of the sea'.

_“What does a lowly, ephemeral speck know of All Creation!?”_

The creature swings its massive head from one side to the other, toppling the crumbling architecture that adorned the altar like a halo over Luna's head. Lunafreya has to crouch to avoid being hit with the swing, or crushed under the breaking stone, but Luna's unafraid. She's angry, bubbling over with an upset she wasn't allowed to have as a hostage in the empire.

“I know what you must know-- that the King of Kings is to drive the darkness away from our star.”

The Leviathan is angry with her insolence. Water surges forth in a barrier of magic like a tendril, snaking out towards the Oracle just a bit too fast for Luna to avoid. The sharp point of her assault knocks her to the ground, splitting a thin cut across her side, but it's a narrow dodge that would've left her impaled like a spear had she moved too slow.

Water splashes back in Luna's face, leaving her coughing for air, but she tries to force herself to stand upright and face the goddess without fear. The hands gripping her trident hold steadfast, keeping her elevated just long enough to perform the rite, her voice steady despite her weary body.

_“Blasphemous ingrates, all men, quick to forget the ages their goddess stood watch!”_

“It is in receiving mercy that men offer praise, and in shedding grace that the gods solicit worship.”

_“Yet this profane speck speaks her “King” heresies before a goddess! Insufferable sacrilege!”_

The Leviathan reels its head forward this time, jaws snapped wide open, intent on devouring the heretic at her altar who dared rouse her from sleep. It rears back with an ugly cry as light sheds from the trident's middle point, piercing a hole through its mouth and coating the stone in slimy plasma.

Luna is bruised, hurt, and tired, but she holds herself aloft with the motivation Ravus instilled in her.

“I vow the king will prove himself worthy!”

Waves rise high around the cascading waterfall that was once Altissia's barrier point, sealing the area off in a liquid wall. The once beautiful streets crumble away under the water pressure as the ocean begins to rise, broken buildings tumbling away into the sea, swept away into the depths below.

_“If not, then the Feeding shall begin, and it shall not end until every last speck is devoured. So let the covenant be forged. Heaven and Earth, High and Deep, Birth and Return...”_

*

“The trial should be over by now, right?” Gladiolus questions nervously, steadying his breath after running to catch up with the swift moving advisor.

“I can't tell a bloody thing from here. Let's make for the altar.”

The ground sways to and fro under the force of Titan's might. Noctis must've summoned him to finish the battle once the Hydraean sank low beneath the waves, but as Ignis catches a glimpse of the Archaean crashing its fist into a drop ship, he has to watch in horror as the destroyed ship whips through the air on course for the bridge they're standing on.

Gladiolus slid his arms around Prompto's waist at the last minute, tugging him in close when he tosses them in the opposite direction. The ship hits the pillars hard, crashing through the marble bridge, sending a cloud of debris up into the air like a thick cloud. 

The force of the bridge breaking splayed them out on the ground mere inches from the massive hole it leaves in its wake, and when Prompto draws his head away from Gladio's chest, his stomach sinks when Ignis is no longer standing where he once was. 

The advisor was thrown to the ground hard, leaving his body covered in bruises, concussed and sore with pain. When Ignis wakes to the sound of bombs firing in the near distance, he finds himself drifting in towards the broken shoreline, his arms clutching a single wooden board as a flotation device. He must've hit his head on the way down, but the only thing he cares about is getting to the prince, pushing through the pulsating pain and forcing himself to crawl forward.

Ignis can see ships flying overhead, drifting closer towards the angered earth God. From where he can see, wading through the cold water towards the edge of the canal, Titan is still pummelling ships into the ocean relentlessly-- but he doesn't have to get close to know the God is growing tired. Ships replace the ones destroyed by the Archaean's hand, a seemingly endless torrent of missiles bound for Titan's body.

The advisor pulls himself out of the water with a hard cough. Fluid expels from his lungs as he heaves onto the ground, pushing himself off the floor and wiping his mouth off on the back of his sleeve. His earpiece makes a high-pitched whining noise, but Ignis is pleased when it looks like it wasn't too water damaged by his tumble into the sea.

“Prompto?”

“Iggy!” Prompto breathes a sigh of relief from over the phone. “I thought you were a goner.”

“It'll take more than a little seawater. I'm more worried about Noct. I'll find a way to the altar, but I need you to keep the enemy distracted.”

The first thing he needs to do is find a better vantage point. There are imperial soldiers everywhere, lurking around every corner, trying to dissuade him from moving forward. Altissia is starting to swarm with Magitek troops, which he's happened to notice is the preferred method of the Imperial Chancellor.

When Ignis manages to pilfer a hook shot he can use to traverse the rooftops, he finds he can get a birds eye view of the city. Titan is still mercilessly sending enemy drop ships into the crashing waves beneath him, his hands crushing metal in his grip that Ignis can hear from miles away. For every ship he sends under, two more take its place, and he's not going to hold up very long if he keeps getting pelted with bombs.

If he focuses a little more intently, he can see the prince and princess just a few hundred yards away.

_“All units, withdraw from the front lines immediately. All units...”_

A voice calls from somewhere overhead, and Ignis can't recognize it. It must be a low level commander barking orders for someone higher up-- someone like Ardyn, or Ravus.

“Weskham here.” The bar owner's voice responds over his earpiece. “The empire has the Archaean surrounded... until he smashes their ships, that is.”

“I need to get to the altar before that happens.” Ignis replies hastily, grappling to a roof nearby.

“You could try crossing the eastern bridge, if it's still standing.”

“Here's to hoping. I'm heading that way now... wish me luck.”

Ignis has no choice but to try and appeal to the secretary for aid this time. He can't get closer unless he has access to a quick-moving boat, which requires favours from the woman who informed them she'd have no responsibility after the covenant began. 

Camelia replies in unhappy responses and clear disdain for being asked to assist after already making her terms clear. Though Ignis thinks she's going to refuse, she reluctantly agrees to give him aid, informing him in no uncertain words that she can't spare any resources in light of the refugee situation. Ignis thanks her gratefully for her assistance even if it pains him to do so. The secretary isn't a woman he has a fondness for, but she does her job exceedingly well.

“Prompto, do you read me?” Ignis is out of breath as he races down the winding ruins of Altissia's streets.

“Loud and clear!” Prompto responds readily, happy to hear from him again, despite their clearly unfortunate circumstances.

“What's your status?” Iggy's already uplifted by his enthusiasm.

“Uh... preoccupied?” 

Prompto sounds even more out of breath than Ignis is, grunting when he dodges a blow from the incoming Imperial soldiers. Gladiolus replies soon after, the sound of his sword hitting metal a sharp noise over the speaker.

“And probably will be for a while.”

“... Understood.”

“What about--” Prompto's voice cuts out with static, fading into nothing soon after as the line goes dead.

“Prompto? Prompto! Do you copy?”

The silence he gets in response is the answer he expected, but not the one he wanted to hear. He breathes a soft “damn” under his breath, his side starting to hurt from the duress of his exercise. As he turns a sharp corner, he's disgruntled to find the path ahead of him crumbling into the sea, clearly a strategic move on the empire's part.

Ignis turns back, intent on finding another path. It takes a few minutes to find his way towards the clearing, heaving a sigh of relief when he can see the eastern bridge just a few feet away. He's starting to feel the physical strain, but it's just a mere nagging feeling he'll deal with when he has time.

Unfortunately, Ignis has just a few seconds to collapse behind one of the marble pillars holding up te bridge's structure, shielding himself from view as Caligo and Ravus enter the clearing while discussing among themselves loudly.

“Have you located the ring yet, Commander? And what of Lunafreya?”

“Both, High Commander, but our forces are unable to extract either at present. We've no way of approaching the altar so long as the Archaean stands in our way.”

“Even the gods are on his side...” Ignis can hear the displeasure in Ravus's tone when he speaks. “Neither the king nor the Oracle will escape with their lives if the fighting continues. Order a full retreat. I'm going in alone.”

“B-- But sir!”

When Ignis peeks around the pillar, he can see Ravus pause mid-stride. There's a ship waiting for him, hovering over the ocean's surface, ramp extended as the pilot waits for them to board. Ignis can see as Ravus faces down Caligo with dominance, reaching his prosthetic arm in front of himself like an example to set.

“I assume you are already familiar with how I got this arm?”

“Yes, sir.” Caligo cowers in front of the High Commander, but Ignis can't enjoy it.

“Then you must know the Ring is worthless without one who can wield it.”

“Very well, Sir.”

Caligo bows low at the waist as Ravus departs. As soon as the silver haired commander is out of earshot, boarding the ship come to collect them, Caligo is gritting his teeth with reserved fury while he clenches his fists.

“How dare he address me with such impudence. Has he forgotten his place entirely? Or is he too concerned about his sister to care?”

Ignis continues to watch as Caligo boards the ship soon after. He watches until the ship is disappearing, wary to come out of hiding in the presence of imperial dogs. Ignis still isn't sure if the concern Ravus has for his sister is genuine, or if it's all just a ploy for the ring. It still wouldn't make any sense if he knows he can't use it.

_“Attention all units, assemble at the docks and prepare for withdrawal immediately. We depart in three minutes.”_ The unfamiliar voice from earlier sounds out over his earpiece, cutting off his train of thought.

“Wait! I'm headed to the altar, and I need a boat!”

_“Have you lost your marbles?”_

“No-- but we'll lose the king if we don't act!”

“Give him what he wants.” Camelia replies swiftly. Ignis can't help but sigh with relief.

“You have my thanks.”

“Keep them. I'll take gil instead.”

“Do you copy?” Prompto's voice follows after the secretary turns off their correspondence. 

Ignis is silent for moment while he tries getting a better look at Titan, but Gladiolus chimes in when he doesn't reply, anger tinting his voice.

“Ain't a hard question, Iggy. Do you copy-- yes or no?”

“Yes, I copy.”

“Then speak up next time!” Gladiolus yells at him from over the phone. It's unfamiliar, being yelled at by the shield, but he supposes he can't blame him for getting upset. “Look: I'm just as worried as you are, but we can't go losing our heads. If we wanna save Noct, we gotta keep it together.”

“Yes... I suppose you're right.”

“We'll keep moving.” Prompto assures him, just as taken aback by Gladio's yelling, though he doesn't sound like it. “Hang in there, Iggy!”

“I will... thanks.”

*

Noctis hits the ground head first, and his skull makes an ugly cracking sound on the stone ground. The Leviathan's swing caught him just a little too fast, knocking him back a few dozen feet, sending him sprawling into a piece of broken ground that was once part of the city streets. Luna sees him land, and rushes forward in shock, desperate to help him with every fibre of her being.

If she could just get him the ring...

Lunafreya collapses to the ground with a wracking cough that surges up from her chest. Gasping for air, she tries to sit up on her knees, unaware of the presence behind her until his voice resounds smoothly from the space behind her.

“Now, about that ring...”

Ardyn comes to a stop beside her, swivelling around on his heel with a flourish. A friendly smile adorns his face when he crouches to her level, the rain starting to drizzle, leaving droplets on the chancellor's face like tears from the heavens.

“On second thought, you _let him have it.”_

The chancellor plunges his knife into her abdomen so hard, it wrenches a pained gasp from her mouth like song. She can feel every excruciating inch pierce through her skin, nesting just underneath her rib cage, narrowly avoiding her heart as it sinks cleanly into her soft flesh. 

It gives her a few seconds of pained breath while she bleeds out, and she knows Ardyn did it intentionally when she can see the expression he wears like a veil. He wanted to watch her while she dies, there to observe every agonizing inhale as blood threatens to spill into her airway.

Noctis can do nothing but watch in stunned silence as Luna turns her gaze towards him. Her eyes are wide with suffering pain, and all Noctis can do is reel from the concussion, his face too contorted with shock to look sad. 

“And do remind him about the Crystal.”

Ardyn's hand pulls the blade from her chest swiftly, and the sound of a knife sliding wetly from her skin makes Noct's stomach turn with sickness. Luna's cry is pained as he drags the blade back out of her, toppling to the side when the searing pain makes it almost impossible to stand.

“Oh, Prince! Your bride awaits!” 

The chancellor calls to him like it's a game, a game he knows he's winning.

“I will pass the ring... to the rightful King...” Luna's words are laboured between her ragged breaths.

Ardyn reaches out aggressively, taking Lunafreya's chin with his fingers. The caress is almost tender, but the smile on the chancellor's face is anything but. He wants to have a better view as the light leaves her eyes, finally passing on to the beyond the way she was intended to.

Luna takes his arm softly between her hands, and his grip falls slack. The chancellor allows her to pull his hand towards her chest, observing curiously as light engulfs her hands like a healing spell. It's holy magic, pure and untainted, seeping into his veins only to be smouldered by the inky black scourge that runs through his being.

“When the prophecy is fulfilled, all in thrall to darkness shall know peace.”

The smile on Ardyn's face quickly fades into something dissatisfied, and then angry. He wrenches his arm out of her grip hard, but the back of his hand meets her face in a heavy slap, a sound Noctis can hear laying ten feet away. Luna's cheek is red, her arms struggling to hold herself up, blood seeping from her wound and dripping onto the marble below.

Ardyn peers down at his arm, the remnants of her curse making his skin feel like electricity. He's still looking at it as he stands, but he drops his arm to his side soon after, bowing sardonically as his ship begins lowering to the altar.

“How sweet... but please, Lady Lunafreya, you first.”

Noctis is still dizzy from the inertia. His head throbs and his vision ebbs, to and fro, making the waves still towering high above seem even more treacherous from down below. It feels more like a watery grave than a wall, the end of a journey he didn't want to begin with.

He doesn't notice as Lady Lunafreya raises her trident to the sky, using the last of her power to call upon the old Kings of Lucis. His eyes are closed as she asks them for aide with a bright light that envelops her like gold dust. What he does notice is the power that surges through his being like a warmth, his Armiger summoned in his greatest time of need as the Power of Kings pulls him away from the brink of death.

*

“You wretch...”

Caligo limps away from the rubble of his Magitek armour with his arm around his waist, desperate to flee the scene before Ignis can draw any closer. The broken remains of his suit lie smouldering in the middle of the town's square, obscuring Ignis's view, until he can see the commander trying to limp away like a coward.

The heap of burning scrap metal obscures Ignis's view from the figure who slides his sword through Caligo's chest. Ignis watches with a grimace as Caligo heaves a wet, pained gasp, the thin blade from a sabre slipping from his chest with little more than a squelching noise. 

The commander falls to the ground like a ragged doll, and Ignis doesn't hide the shock on his face when it's Ravus who turns the corner, his mouth turned up in a smile that almost implies he'd been waiting to kill Caligo for quite some time. It's the knowledge that he has a pawn to blame the commander's death on-- a smile of knowing satisfaction.

“Ravus...” Ignis doesn't sound like he's greeting him.

The high commander approaches him carefully, his weapon still drawn and his demeanour like a snake coiled to strike. It's the most inopportune time to be surrounded on all sides, Magitek troopers soon pouring out of the alleyway.

Ignis braces himself when he watches Ravus advance toward him. He knows he can't withstand a blow from Ravus and all these troops together, but he's taken aback to feel the Tanabraean prince's body warm against his, the high commander's sword sinking into the daemonic soldier's chest as it started advancing toward him from behind. Ignis can hear the creature die with a shriek, falling away to the ground, even more troops drawn closer by the piercing howl.

“I've no quarrel with _you_ , boy. Join me. I can secure us a way to the King and the Oracle.”

Ravus's voice is a hiss next to Ignis's ear. The term is used so condescendingly, it makes Ignis wonder just how old Ravus is. Certainly not old enough to be disrespecting him, at any rate.

“... How do I know I can trust you?”

“Have you any other options?”

“You have a point.” Ignis positions his hands more carefully around the grips of his daggers.

“Then it's settled.”

Ignis just barely manages to deflect an attack meant on Ravus, the sharp points of his daggers digging deep into the face of a Magitek Assassin that flanked him on the left. Ignis can see the corners of Ravus's mouth twitch downward when black miasma splatters across his face, but Ravus is turning on his heels deftly, his sword sliding clean through the arm of a soldier that tried to creep up from behind.

Ignis doesn't have a fondness for Ravus, but if he said the high commander couldn't fight, he'd be a liar. He didn't have the opportunity to appreciate Ravus's finesse when he was trying to strangle Noctis last time, but the besieged prince has a skill in fencing the tactician wouldn't have assumed from his pompousness. 

Ravus is almost as patronizing as chancellor Izunia himself, but he cuts clean through an army with the dexterity of a dancer. Every footfall is almost carefully placed, but the prosthetic he wears gives him more than one advantage. When Ignis runs through a small army of soldiers with Ravus by his side, he's suddenly grateful they aren't on opposite sides this time.

“You might be of some use after all.” Ravus almost sounds impressed. “Follow me... _if_ you're ready.”

The sun is receding beneath the horizon by the time they're finished cleaning up the square. Ignis is intent on leaving the area before more can take their place, and moving under the cover of darkness is just the kind of leverage they need. Ravus seems to have the same idea, because he doesn't try to stop and rest before they continue on.

Soldiers are already stationed on the road ahead, and Ignis sinks below a broken piece of wall that was once part of an alcove. Ravus follows his lead, his voice just above a whisper as he tells Ignis not to go any further.

“You needn't waste your time. I've ordered a full retreat. They'll be gone soon enough.”

“Very well.” Ignis sinks even lower, sitting on the ground, his back pressed up against the ruin. “Why turn against the empire? Why now?”

“My sister's life is at stake. Is that not reason enough? The paths we tread may differ, but the blood coursing through our veins is one. So, too, is our calling. I must protect her.”

Ignis looks visibly taken aback by his statement, lips parting as if to say something before deciding against it. It hadn't occurred to him Ravus could be so... _compassionate_. Up until now, he's seen him as little more than a nuisance, hindering their progress and effort to save Luna: it just hadn't occurred to him that Ravus was doing the same.

Ignis's eyes fall on his artificial arm. Ravus seems to notice his looking, and mutters “What of it?”

“I have doubts you were born with a prosthetic.”

“Your doubts are correct. I once believed it was I who was destined to dispel the darkness. This is proof I was wrong.”

If Ravus tried to wield the Ring at one point, and lost use of his arm because of it, it would explain his hesitance to allow Caligo its retrieval. But if Ravus already knows the Ring can't be used by anyone not ordained by the Crystal, he'd know that Noctis is the only one who fits the criteria.

“... Is it safe to assume this means you'll lend Noct a hand?”

“Don't be asinine.” Ravus mutters lowly. “Out interests may have aligned in this moment, but I have not allied myself with him.”

Ignis spits out 'him' when he refers to Noctis like it's a bad taste in his mouth, and it causes him to seal his lips shut, lest he say something unsavoury. The idea that anyone could speak so ill about his beloved without having met him is unpleasant, but Ravus has met him, and his clear disdain is a hard pill to swallow.

“The empire is after the Ring of the Lucii. If the ring falls into the wrong hands, I fear there's little hope for either of them.”

“Then we must hurry.” Ignis stands, brushing the dirt off his clothes with his hands.

With the last of the soldiers cleared out, the empty streets almost feel ominous in the dark. Ignis can hear the bombs starting to falter and decrease in number while he listens from afar, but he doesn't have much time to observe his surroundings before Ravus is leading the way, weaving through the ruins quickly with little concern about leaving Ignis behind.

“We haven't much time.” Ravus still speaks lowly.

“I'm aware.”

“Tread quietly.”

“I know.” Ignis doesn't try to hide his exasperation.

The tactician is starting to feel his tiredness come back with vengeance. The constant running and fighting gave him no time to eat, but the hollow in his stomach is nothing compared to the ache in his muscles. Ignis is sure he must've pulled a hamstring somewhere, but he's still got his eyes peeled in the hopes of seeing a rest stop somewhere soon.

“Tell me: Do you truly believe Noctis is the one true king?”

“I believe it goes without saying.”

“Yet when the flames of war enshrouded Tanabrae, his father spared us with nary a second thought. No 'saviour king' could possibly be born of such cowardice.”

“To aid the king is the Oracle's calling, is it not?” Ignis appreciates that he doesn't have to conceal his irritation for the Tanabraean prince. “Or have you simply forgotten the pledge sworn by your forebears?”

“I have not forgotten. Nor have I forgiven.”

As much as Ignis would love to hear more about Ravus's distaste for his best friend, seeing a rest stop makes him breathe yet a third sigh of relief that day. It's a welcome sight when he had to be accompanied by the high commander all evening, eager to fill his stomach and pretend to ignore Ravus for what little time he can.

Ravus isn't as happy as Ignis is when the advisor proposes they rest for an hour. The sound he makes is little more than a strained 'hmph', but he doesn't try to persuade him otherwise. When Ignis turns his head to face the high commander, he can see the dark circles starting to form around his mismatched eyes.

The few moments of silence Ignis gets while he makes them food is awkward, but golden. It's precious few seconds he has that isn't filled entirely with worrying about Noctis, a not-too-fancy Quillhorn Soup that fills the empty feeling with warmth. 

Ravus immediately feels the desire to decline when Ignis offers him a bowl. Getting poisoned wouldn't be a very fitting end to his reign, but after seeing the way Ignis drinks it from the bowl, Ravus is a little more compelled to sate his own hunger. 

It tastes like nothing he's ever had before, like a memory lingering on the edge of one of his five senses. Everything in the empire tasted dull or artificial, confined to meals made by the empire's kitchen staff, if they even bothered to feed him that day. Ravus hasn't had the opportunity to have a lot of meals made in Lucis, but Ignis overshadows all the chefs he's ever had thus far.

“I suppose it's nothing you'd be accustomed to in Niflheim,” Ignis starts, causing Ravus to look up from the bowl he was so contemplatively staring into. “but it'll have to suffice.”

“It's fine.” Ravus's voice snaps back quickly. A little too quick, as he tries to distract from it not too long after. “... It's almost good, for a Lucian.”

“Is that so.” Ignis almost sounds amused, like hearing a compliment from the high commander of the enemy kingdom could be a joke itself.

“It will have to do until we reach the altar.”

Ravus's stomach makes a noise, exposing his hunger in a way that makes the advisor's lips turn up into a smile. Ignis is purposefully avoiding eye contact with him, but the look on his face makes him embarrassed and angry all the same. The high commander brings the bowl to his lips, tipping it all back so he doesn't have to reply right away.

“Did they treat you well? In Niflheim.” Ignis follows up, a genuine curiosity in his tone of voice.

Ravus doesn't reply. He's silent long after Ignis poses his inquiry, quiet still when the empty bowl is on his lap instead of in his hands. Ignis is trying to discern the emotion on his face, but Ravus closes himself off, eyes glazing over as he represses memories deep in his psyche.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Why is that?”

“You were a child.”

Ravus can feel his throat close over. He's not sure if it'd be in good taste to laugh or not, but the need to guffaw at his statement dies before it ever reaches his mouth. Ignis is the Lucian prince's most trusted advisor, and here Ravus is, eating his food and letting him drag dusty skeletons from his closet. It's a blasphemous thought, but for just a second, he thinks he could fall in love with Ignis if things weren't the way they are.

“I haven't been a child in a very long time.”

Though his tone of voice is as laced with venom as the rest of his words, Ignis can tell there's a much deeper meaning behind it. It's a statement that both answers and avoids his question: Whatever they did, it aged him up quickly.

“What did they do to you?” Ignis's voice is tender.

“What did they do to me?”

Ravus responds to his question with a hypothetical one, something angry in his words now. The way he shifts forward in his seat makes Ignis nervous, unprepared for confrontation should the high commander grow too tired of his questions. Ignis can see where Ravus's knuckles turn white as he grips his bowl so hard it almost shatters.

“What did _they_ do to me? You mean, what did that fool bestow upon me with his cowardice? What did he cause unto me that created what I am now?”

Ignis moves like he's prepared to get up, but Ravus is too fast. The bowl shatters discarded to the ground as the high commander pushes himself from the seat Ignis procured, and the advisor can feel his hand grip into the fabric of his shirt, holding him steadfast in his chair and maintaining eye contact with the disgruntled commander.

“What the empire did was _nothing_ compared to watching my mother burn to death. King Regis took my sister and left me there to die in the empire's flames, and it was she and she only who saved my life,” Ravus tugs on his shirt, pulling his face in closer. “I put the life she gave me on the line for _her_. Your precious prince can sacrifice all the pawns he wants, but he will not sacrifice her.”

Ignis has no room to wrench himself away if he wanted to, unless he felt like toppling his chair back onto the ground. Ravus has an unflinching passion in his eyes that sucks him in, pulling him under like the waves that crash against Altissia's shattered cobblestone streets. Ignis isn't sure if he wants to kiss him or drown him.

“Luna is sacrificing herself for him.” Ignis's response is careful, calculated. “Noctis doesn't want this either.”

“You think I care about what he wants?”

Ravus crashes his lips against Ignis's hard, and it's a kiss that isn't meant to have pleasant feelings. It's angry and raw with emotion, wounds that haven't been opened in over a decade pouring over with bleeding hate. Ignis pulls at the high commander's hair with a firm grip, but he's not trying to pry him off, opening his mouth readily when Ravus groans and sliding his tongue over the roof of his mouth while the high commander is caught off guard.

Ravus touches him like he's not looking for a good time. His hands are under Ignis's shirt before he even thinks of unbuttoning it, one palm rough from handling his sword and the other cold metal that makes Ignis shudder when it touches hot skin. Ravus is relishing the way Ignis seems to shudder up toward him, but the chair is forgotten as Ravus pushes the advisor to his back, falling to the ground with a grunt of displeasure as his chair topples backward.

Ignis isn't sure what he's doing. So careful with his observations and plans, feeling lost like this is an unwelcome change of pace. Ravus seems to be determined to leave burning kisses over his jaw and throat, his hands still grazing over his torso almost as if he can't get enough of human contact. It makes Ignis wonder just how often this occurred for him back in Niflheim, but his thoughts are devoured as Ravus parts his lips and bites down on his shoulder.

“Does he touch you like this, _Scientia?_ ”

The moan Ignis replies with makes Ravus smile, self-satisfied and full of himself when he gets the answer he was waiting for. Ignis wants to push him off, demand he keep the prince's name away from his mouth, but Ravus slides his warm hand underneath the hemline of his boxers and strokes his cock in a way that has his insults fizzling out.

It's bad enough that Ravus can tell he has a fondness for the king, but talking about him while the high commander has his hand on his dick makes him feel shame. When Ignis tries to close his eyes, avert his gaze anywhere but the high commander's face, he can feel the metal of his hand rest upon his neck like a warning. There's no pressure, but the presence is enough to make him pull his eyes back open, face-to-face with the mild admiration in Ravus's expression.

“Does he want you, _boy?_ ”

Ignis can't help but squirm when Ravus tightens his grip around his aching cock, stroking him faster while he uses his pre-cum to slick up his hand. The way his pants fit around his waist impedes the way he jerks him off, but Ravus quickly remedies the situation when he tugs Iggy's pants off hard, pulling them down around his thighs abruptly. It moves the hand around his neck to his waist instead, giving Ignis the leeway he needs to sit up on his elbows, watching carefully as Ravus takes hs length into his mouth.

Ignis curses loudly as Ravus envelops him in his warm, wet mouth, sucking on his cock hard as he watches the advisor's face carefully. It's hard to imagine anyone except Noct choking on his cum, but there's no denying the high commander is a pretty thing. He's in league with Prompto on a list of men he finds pretty, all soft eyes and soft lips, but Ravus is pretentious and jaded and infuriating on a level of his own.

Ravus licks his tongue over his slit hard, swallowing cum that leaks from the head readily, still sucking hard as he takes his cock halfway into his mouth. His throat's far too small to fuck, as tempting as it is to make him gag, but Ravus makes up for it by jacking off the rest of his length into his mouth. The drool on his cock has his hand moving easier, his head bobbing out of time, sucking him off with the intent of making him cum and clearly not eliciting emotion.

Ignis curls his fingers in Ravus's soft hair when his cock pulses, catching the high commander by surprise when he's filling his mouth with cum and no warning. Ravus doesn't look happy about it, pulling his head off his cock when he finishes, spitting it onto the ground nearby. Ignis can feel his dick twitch with interest as he watches cum fall from his mouth, still dripping over his chin when he looks back over with a flushed face and pretty red lips.

The advisor is kind enough to clean that for him. When Ignis reaches over and draws cum away from his jaw with his finger, Ravus finds the administration so tender, it's hard not to feel some kind of sweet pang in his chest. He doesn't utter a thank you, but he thinks it in his head, incapable of bringing the words out into the open. What he does is gasp sharply when Ignis's other hand reaches out, his palm groping at his obvious erection from over the fabric of his jeans.

“I thought you didn't care about what he wants.”

“I don't.”

Ravus gasps again when Ignis grips his cock even harder, but the advisor doesn't even seem phased. His dick is spent and still soaked with his spit, but Ignis's fingers pull his zipper open deftly, focused solely on getting the high commander off at this point. The advisor is getting on his knees at the same time as Ravus draws away, coming to a stand as though he didn't just spit his cum out on the floor.

“I find that hard to believe.”

Ravus has a hard time not fucking into his mouth when Ignis starts blowing him. He's pleasantly surprised to find that the advisor is a lot better at sucking cock than he is, uttering a quiet, low sound when Ignis deepthroats all of him in one go. His shoulders tense as he feels his dick slide into his tight throat like a warm vice, exhaling another soft sound when Ignis draws back only to impale his mouth on it again.

Ravus thinks that Ignis looks handsome from above. The advisor is a very handsome looking boy, with green eyes that remind him a little of the thicket back at home. It's a romantic sentiment that gets lost when he can feel moan around his length, the sound stifled with his thick cock and reverberating through his core in the form of a shudder. Ravus can feel himself leak pre-cum into his wet mouth like a warmth that seeps from his cock, but Ignis swallows it all readily, fucking his own face while Ravus forces himself to still.

“ _I_ want you.” Ravus admits it like a dirty secret, ashamed to say it aloud.

Ignis is intellectual and kind, courageous and strong, excellent at cooking and evidently a great little cocksucker. The fact that he belongs to Noctis sets him aflame with envy, an anger that's hard to quell. It's a fire that burns through his lower abdomen as Ignis sucks on his cock a little harder, but his admittance makes the advisor moan softly with his mouth still full of Ravus, and it's all the high commander needs to go spilling over his mouth with a cry that almost sounds pained.

Ravus's cock is so hard it almost hurts as Ignis drinks his cum like water. The advisor doesn't stop until Ravus stops leaking, his hands on the high commander's thighs for leverage as he readily swallows all of him. It almost makes him feel bad for spitting, but as he draws his cock from Ignis's mouth slowly, he notices just a little too late that a drop ship is leaving a Coeurl behind, like a going away present just for them.

The battle doesn't last as long as Ignis thought it would. It's just a low-level creature they left behind knowing one of the king's retainers would have to encounter it at some point, impeding the way toward the altar with pit stops. When all is said and done, Ravus is wiping Coeurl blood from his hands off onto his pants, clearly dissatisfied with being spattered in beast blood in a way Ignis would find befitting royalty.

“Are you alright?” Ravus asks. Ignis is a little surprised he bothered.

“Well enough.”

“You're resilient-- I'll give you that.” Ravus sounds just a little impressed. “If Noctis is the True King, he still has much to prove. The darkness will not wait for his ascent. It will consume our star and all upon it.”

“I know. He may not yet grasp the gravity of his calling, but once he does, he will rise to the occasion and fulfill his destiny.”

“One can only hope you're right.” Ravus responds blandly.

*

“Noct!” Ignis cries, his feet pounding on the wet stone altar.

“Lunafreya.” Ravus sounds devastated. 

The high commander doesn't stop walking toward his sister when Luna's dog limps out from a crevice she found between two collapsed pillars. Pryna whimpers, collapsing to the ground in a dishevelled pile of fur, and Ignis crouches to meet her.

“Are you her dog?” He asks her softly, his hand reaching out to stroke her soft ear.

Pryna looks up at him with her large blue eyes, a golden light ensnaring them both. It hurts Ignis's eyes, a vision that permeates deep into his mind, relaying images behind his eyelids in quick succession like watching clips of a movie.

In his thoughts, a king sits atop a throne. A hand wearing the Ring of Lucis twitches with an anticipation Ignis has seen before, and he's soon revealed the reason why: The image shifts to one of an older looking Noctis, much more world weary, unshaven and so handsome it hurts Ignis's heart.

_“A power even greater than that of the Six, purifying all by Light of the Crystal and the glaives of rulers past.”_

Noctis plunges the sword of his father into the ground, still sitting atop the Lucian throne. The throne room is filled with radiance as he summons the power of kings, surrounded by the rulers themselves, manifested into form as transparent spiritual entities that close in on all sides.

_“Only at the throne can the Chosen receive it, and only at the cost of a life: his own.”_

Ignis watches in horror as Noctis is pelted by the force of power entering his soul in the form of kingly spirits, entities that ruled over Lucis in a time long forgotten. Every spirit that envelops his being takes a little more of his energy away, and Ignis continues to watch through the lens as Noct's hand slips away from the sword's handle.

_“The King of Kings shall be granted the power to banish the darkness, but the blood price must be paid.”_

Noctis is in pain now, burning alive with raw energy, summoning forth the spirits that enraptured his soul. Yet another figure is joined in the forefront of his thoughts-- Ardyn, shielded in shadow, anger and chaos incarnate dissipating into a cloud of white butterflies.

_“To cast out the Usurper and usher in dawn's light will cost the life of the chosen.”_

Images of Noctis crying. Gladiolus looking solemn. Prompto's face heavy with sadness. Ignis weeping.

_“Many sacrificed all for the King; so must the King sacrifice himself for all.”_

Noctis closes his eyes, so serene it makes Ignis feel gut-wrenching empathy. He falls backwards, and disappears into a torrent of white butterflies, like a beautiful tragedy.

_“Now enter into Reflection, that the Light of Providence shine within.”_

Ignis shakes his head, gasping hard, reminding himself to breathe again once the visions stop. It feels like he's been dragged into reality from a heavy sleep, his mind groggy for a few seconds while he gathers his bearings. He turns to Pryna with furrowed eyebrows, expression curious, needing more of an explanation and finding nothing but silence.

“What did I just see?” He ponders aloud, images still flickering in his mind's eye. “A vision of what's to come?”

Pryna doesn't reply, but he doesn't expect her to. Ignis observes as Pryna seems to glow with the same white, purified light that Luna commanded, his heart heavy when the light shines even brighter, leaving nothing in Pryna's space but a memory and a foretelling of a future yet to be seen.

Ignis is still sick with realization as he approaches the altar. Ravus beat him there by just a few moments, standing rigid as he stares down at his little sister. Ignis doesn't know what he's looking at until he draws closer, frozen in place when he sees the high commander struck with grief, staring at the body of his dead sibling in horror.

Noctis is on his back, and Lunafreya lies next to him, her hand on his chest like a protective cradle. A golden glow cascades over her hand where she touches him, a white wisp of light that dances over her fingertips. It almost looks like they're resting peacefully. Lunafreya is smiling peacefully, her abdomen split open and her white dress stained a dark red where blood started to dry around the knife wound.

“No...” Ravus sounds miserable. It's the first time Ignis has heard him say anything that didn't sound patronizing, and it's a word drenched in sorrow.

“First, the Lucians stole from me my mother...”

Ravus's hand pulls out his blade, his grieving expression now contorting with a righteous fury.

“And now they make a sacrifice of my sister!”

Ignis has a small window of time to wheel himself forward, his hand gripping Ravus's forearm hard, just in time to save Noctis from a life-ending blow. Ignis tries to use the dagger in his other hand to press back on the blade, arms shaking from exertion while Ravus tries to bring his sword down upon the unconscious prince.

“Get out of my way!” Ravus hisses.

“What are you doing?!”

“What I should have done a long time ago: ridding us of this menace!”

Ignis can't hold up under the weight of his assault. He can see the blade coming down closer and closer, inches away from cutting through Ignis's shoulder and shredding through Noctis in the same blow. He has no choice but to propel himself into the high commander's chest, arms wrapped around his waist, pushing him further away from the king. It leaves him wide open for assault, but Ravus waits until Ignis is up on his feet before trying to advance on him instead.

“Stand in my way and you, too, shall meet the same fate: death!”

“Come to your senses, man!”

Ravus is quick. He's almost impossibly fast, leaving Ignis with very little time to dodge the onslaught of attacks the high commander bores down on him. Ignis has to steel his shoulders when he uses his daggers to parry every swing of his sabre, narrowly missing a clip from the blade when he swipes too close to the skin.

“I understand the pain you must be feeling, but Noct isn't the one who did this to her!”

“Oh, yes, he is!”

When Ravus has his guard down, Ignis can land a kick to the centre of his chest that knocks him off balance. The commander staggers back, giving him just enough time to slice a thin line over Ravus's face. It's not deep enough to scar, but it's deep enough to make Ravus tremble with anger, advancing on him yet again with a flurry of assault.

“Lady Lunafreya was trying to help the king by coming to his aide. She was just fulfilling her calling!”

“Don't try to justify this! _She didn't need to die!”_

Ignis rolls out of the way when Ravus tries to bring his sword down on him in a wide arch, and the metal makes a distinct clang sound as it bounces off the stone below. It takes Ravus a moment to pry the blade from the ground with brute strength, and Ignis dives again when his sabre is suddenly swinging toward him from the side and not above.

“Kill him, and her sacrifice will have been for naught! Kill him, and you kill her hopes for the future!”

“What hope is there in a future that my sister will never see?” Ravus is pained. “Step aside, or I'll cut my way through.”

“Noct didn't choose to become king: his ascension was ordained by the Crystal! It wasn't mere happenstance!”

“It was a mistake. One that must be corrected.”

Every dodge and parry is fortune from the gods. The skill he admired hours before is a genuine threat now, but Ignis manages to briefly counter a few swings with moves of his own. Catching Ravus off his guard is difficult, but the high commander is angry and upset, the only leverage he has when it comes to surviving the battle. Emotions are a weakness when it comes to sparring, one Ignis can exploit, for brief seconds in time.

“You of all people must understand how Noct feels: bereft of both parents, and forced to carry on despite losing those you love. You both feel that pain!”

“I feel _nothing._ ”

Ignis manages to pierce his blade through the metal of Ravus's arm when the high commander misses a swing, pinning it to the floor. The strenuousness of dodging and blocking every one of Ravus's attacks makes him feel like jello, and he collapses to the ground when his knees can no longer hold himself up, on all fours while he catches his breath.

The rain is falling heavy now, matting Ignis's hair to his forehead. Ravus looks equally drenched and spent, and the altar rocks against the waves that beat against the stone, the oncoming of a storm rolling in over the ocean over what felt like minutes. 

Ravus pries himself from the floor, and for a moment, Ignis is nervous he's advancing towards Noctis again. Instead, he can hear the commander speak softly, conversing with his sister as though she were merely sleeping and he was being careful not to wake her. The light that enveloped her hand is gone now, leaving only remnants.

“I always knew... that you would face your fate without fear, fulfill your duty without regret.”

Ravus staggers as he forces himself to move toward her, exhausted from the fight and the pain he feels in his chest. Ignis can do nothing but watch as he tries to gather his strength.

“But... part of me always hoped... that I might see you happy one day. Your burdens lifted, free to live and love as you please.”

The commander collapses to his knees beside her. His hand takes her shoulder gently, turning her away from the prince, on her back so he can see her smiling face just one last time. Ravus tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and Ignis feels like he's interrupting something very private when he cradles her in his arms. Ravus lifts her head to his chest, a living martyr hiding his tears with the rain that falls against his face.

“Even in death, the Oracle does not rest. Only once the darkness is dispelled is her calling truly fulfilled.”

Ignis stands from the ground, his hand on a crumbling pillar to keep himself held aloft. Sylleblossoms are floating idly through the air just inches away from his face, and Ignis follows it with his eyes as it drifts toward the sea, toward the spirit of Lunafreya who hovers above the ocean waves like an angel. 

Ravus stands, stumbles towards the figure, collapsing to his knees with an overwhelming pain Ignis can only imagine. Lunafreya is drifting away from him, over the ocean, as pleased as she looked laying on the cold ground.

“Oh, sister... please don't go... please don't leave me...”

Luna disappears in a warm glow, leaving Ravus on his knees, overlooking the rocking sea with sorrow.

“Iggy!”

“Gladio!”

“Are you alright? Where's Prompto?”

Gladiolus doesn't answer. Instead, he turns, looking at the high commander with a narrowing of his eyes. Ignis tries to follow his gaze towards the silver haired mercenary, but Ravus doesn't seem to notice, his head downcast toward the waves as rain pours over him like a heavy blanket.

“Well, well... what have we here?”

Gladio almost sounds sultry as he approaches the high commander slowly, but just as his greatsword is being summoned forth into his grip, Ravus is turning swiftly on his heel and blocking the attempted blow with anger in his face instead of lingering sadness.

“You... Ardyn...” Ravus says his name like something ugly, his mouth pulling up into a grimace, exposing his teeth like a dog ready to bite.

“Oh, dear. Was I that transparent?”

Gladiolus seems to melt away, and in his place stands the imperial chancellor. Ardyn holds his hat to his chest as the second skin he wears fades away, and Ignis is so distracted with the transformation that he doesn't notice the trooper who kicks the back of his knee hard, sending him to the ground before he can catch himself. Another soldier grips his hair hard, keeping his face held against the cool wet stone below.

Ardyn towers above him like a menace.

“The game's up, my boy.”

The last thing Ignis sees before darkness is the sole of Ardyn's shoe coming down on his face hard.

When Ignis finally comes to, the chancellor has a blade in his hand. Ardyn's crouching to his level, speaking to him more directly. His face is starting to hurt from where he's being held against the ground by two separate guards, and he can't seem to see where Ravus is, if he's even still there. What he can see is the dried blood on the sharp edges of his knife, and the big grin Ardyn dons when he finally opens is eyes.

“Come now. Why not follow your liege's lead and stop resisting?”

“Never!” 

Ignis hisses with pain when the guard gripping his hair twists even harder, pulling strands from the root. The one who kicked his knee out from under him has his arm twisted painfully behind his back, making his tendons burn from the stretch.

“You risked life and limb to safeguard the 'King of Kings', only to witness him fail so spectacularly. You must be disappointed.”

Ardyn stands, but only so he can turn around and walk towards the unconscious king, placed directly across from Ignis as though they were laying side by side. The chancellor must've laid him there purposefully, and the thought of him handling Noct's unconscious body at all makes his gut wrench with anger and disgust. The position is too familiar, placed too intentionally to be coincidence. 

“Unhand him.” Desperation seeps through the edges of Ignis's words, but Ardyn continues as though he hadn't heard him, playing with the knife in his hands like a toy.

“I know I am. Oh, what good is a world that only ever lets you down? Why not end it all right here?”

“No. You can't.” Ignis's breathing grows rapid.

The chancellor takes one last look at him, just to make sure he has his eyes on the show. Ignis is watching in terrified devastation as Ardyn brings the knife up high above his head, his other hand curling in the collar of Noct's shirt, pulling him off the ground like a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter.

Ignis cries out Noct's name so loud and desperately, the adrenaline pulsing through his veins distracts entirely from the feeling of his arm popping out of place. The soldier behind him pulled hard, his shoulder making a sick noise as the bone moves unnaturally under the skin. Ignis doesn't so much as flinch.

A blade flies out in front of Ardyn's grip, and the metal makes a sharp noise as it bounces off the knife in the chancellor's hand. Ignis can see Ardyn's face shift from surprise to something maybe even somewhat impressed, and the chancellor hums a sound of contemplation as he draws the knife back down to his side.

“My, you two have certainly become fast friends.”

When Ardyn releases his grip, Noctis falls face-down limply. The grip of his hand loosens, and the Ring of Lucis comes tumbling from his palm, inches away from Ignis's face like a blessing from the gods themselves.

Ardyn plucks his hat from the ground as he approaches Ravus with a casual stride, placing it atop a stagnant soldier's head. Shadows form around his hand like wisps of smoke, and when Ardyn brings his hand to the high commander's chest, Ravus goes sprawling backwards over a dozen feet. His spine narrowly misses being smacked off the stairs, rolling to a hard stop.

“Permit me to make a suggestion.” Ardyn turns to Ignis, offering his hand like a friend. “Rather than follow this flotsam and float away to a watery grave, why not come with me? What do you say?”

Ignis uses one last burst of energy to push himself off the floor, the soldiers behind him loosening their hold when they can't maintain a grip. His arm dangles uselessly at his side, swaying oddly from side to side, incapable of responding through the pain. When he opens his mouth, all he can do is groan, a pained cry echoing through the small area when he has no choice but to set his arm properly-- and fast.

“I'll take that as a 'no'.”

“I swore an oath to stand with Noct and keep him safe. Whatever it takes, I will protect him!”

Ignis plunges the Ring of Lucis onto his finger, wailing with pain when he's granted the opportunity to plead his case to the Astral's themselves. The corners of Ardyn's mouth are contorted up into a more mocking smile as he watches Ignis try to win their favour.

“Ah-ah-ahh, I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

“I may not be of royal blood, but if a glaive can harness its power, then so can I! Kings of Lucis, lend me your strength!”

It's like nothing he's ever felt before. There's an agonizing pain that envelops all of his senses at once, pulsating from a place unseen, but the power that flourishes afterwards is almost indescribable. Like cold water on a wound, quenching the flames with something else, something satiating. The last thing he sees before his vision starts to burn away is the surprise on Ardyn's face, and the vision of Noct's body lying unconscious still at the ground by his feet.

“Well. They've shown you their favour after all.”

Ardyn warps closer, close enough to Ignis's face that he can feel the advisor breathing shallow.

“Well? If you're so keen on keeping him safe, I'd like to see you try.”

*

Noctis is still laying face down on the ground where Ignis left him last. Ardyn disappeared after saying the fight was exhilarating, not allowing him the opportunity to end his life. Ignis falls to the ground beside him, panting hard, no more strength left to gather after the altercation with both Ravus and Ardyn.

It's Ravus's voice who breaks the silence, close enough that Ignis knows he must be kneeling beside him.

“That was rather reckless.”

“Where's Noct?” Ignis gasps between pained breaths. “Is he... is he alright.”

Ravus is silent for a few seconds. The Ring took his arm as penance for trying to wield it, but it seems it took Ignis's eyesight as retribution for trying to save the king. He's suddenly grateful Ignis can't see the look of pity that crosses his face, his fingertips drawing strands of hair away from Ignis's face.

“More or less-- all thanks to you.”

“Thank goodne--” Ignis's body is wracked with hard coughing before he can finish his sentence.

“Iggy! Where are you!” Gladio calls from somewhere beyond, and Prompto calls his name soon after, clearly not the chancellor's illusion at play.

“Be still.” Ravus demands. “Conserve your strength. You've a calling to fulfill. As do I. May fortune favour us both.”

Ignis can hear Ravus still.

“And you as well, Noctis.”

_Please..._

_Forgive me..._

*

Noctis feels like he's laying in a field of sylleblossoms, only he's a child again, his most innocent time of life, when the pain didn't feel so real. He can hear Luna call his name in the voice she had as a child, soft and sweet, beckoning him out of slumber like an angel calling his name.

“Noctis.”

Noctis feels weary from sleep. His vision is obscured with something fuzzy, his head echoing with the lingering pain of a headache, but in his sleep-filled eyes he can see her. Lunafreya, in the dress she called her favourite, pure and frilly just like her. She walks to him through the field, drawing closer, her hands folded politely.

“Luna?” Noctis rises from the flowers. Luna looks down on him with a smile.

“So, you found your way here.”

“And you found me.” Noct finds himself replying, though he doesn't fully understand what it means.

“A chance to see you once more... Who would have thought?”

“W-What do you mean? Why wouldn't you see me?”

“Because my prayers have been answered. My calling fulfilled.”

It sounds so odd, being said in the voice of a child. Luna's words are wisdom far beyond what Noctis can understand, but somehow he knows what they mean.

“But... that doesn't have to come between us.”

“You are the one Noctis. The Stars shine for you now.”

Luna leans down to meet his small stature, face to face like what she speaks is divine truth. Noctis can't help but feel an overwhelming sadness spill over him, somewhere deep inside, with a truth he isn't sure of. 

“That which is yours by right shall be restored to you.”

The little girl turns away while Noctis has time to think about the gravity of her words. Something tells him she's speaking about something much deeper than he can understand right now, but he hangs onto it like an important piece of advice he isn't ready to part with. Luna gestures to the flowers that surround them, inhaling the sweet scent of blossoms that Noctis hasn't smelled in years.

“Do you remember the flowers of Tanabrae? It seems so long ago. You'll find they await you still, blooming from hill to vale.”

“Will you be there?” Noctis sounds sad.

Luna is silent. She shakes her head no.

The wind picks up, a warm breeze that makes the sylleblossoms rustle. The air turns thick with a dense fog, and Noctis uses his arm to shield his face from the gentle droplets of rain that cascade over his face like tears. Suddenly, Luna is no longer a little girl. She stands in front of him a woman, hands clasped behind her back, her white dress flowing in the breeze like she's suspended in a water unseen.

“Would that I could join you... but this moment will have to be enough.”

The sylleblossoms are melting, drifting ever upward toward the heavens like rivulets of colour flowing through a glass of water. Noctis is still a child, honest and pure, his face shadowed with pained sadness.

“It's not right... all I wanted... was to save you...”

The tears flow steadily over his face now, no longer pelted by the rain. The scenery has changed, like the ocean opening up and swallowing him whole, but Luna looks upon him with love and gentle understanding that he needn't be ashamed of. She bends, plucks a flower from the ground, and approaches him with a voice as sweet as honey.

“When the world falls down around you, and hope is lost. When you find yourself alone, amid a lightless place, look to the distance. Know that I am there. And that I watch over you, always.”

Noctis looks confused, but realization starts to settle. The flower in her hand drifts toward him as though carried on a gentle wave, but Luna starts to sink into the deep blue abyss, her eyes alive with sadness.

“Farewell, dear Noctis.”

Noctis is no longer a child. He's a man, trying desperately to fight the current, the slow drift that pulls her away. He knows in his heart there's no use-- he did his fighting already, and he failed-- but the flower that drifts towards him fades away, and in its place, the Ring of the Lucii remains.

He's still sobbing as his hands envelop the ring, pulling it close to his chest as he falls out of perdition and into reality.

*

“Noct.”

Ignis says his name sweetly, like he's beckoning to a lover. Noctis is on his back, laid out over the starchy hotel bedsheets, his gaze turned to the ceiling as he listens to his advisor call to him. Ignis is turned away from the prince, sitting upon a footstool, not quite ready to show him the damage to his eyes yet.

“Perhaps it might be best if we brought our journey to a close.”

“Why?” Noctis lurches up into a sitting position.

“It's just that...” _I watched you die. You're going to die. You can't leave me. I love you._ “We've already lost so much. Too much.” _I can't lose you. You can't leave me. I need you._

“Are you kidding me?”

Noctis has fury in his voice.

“That's exactly why I have to keep going-- because if I give up now, their sacrifices will have been for nothing! And you.” Noctis turns away, a shame in his tone of voice that makes Ignis feel sick. “You of all people... you should know that better than anyone.”

Ignis breathes, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

“The decision is yours to make and yours alone. But do remember we will stand with you always and help you bear your burdens. Don't be afraid to let us share the load.” 

The advisor stands from his chair, head bowed to the floor as he meanders to the doorway. Prompto is outside, ready to act as a guide, even more coddling now that Ignis is blind.

“I'll be back.”

An image of Noctis dying flickers briefly through his head, and Noctis is left alone with his thoughts in an empty hotel room.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧ yay for actual development! im not satisfied with ignoct's part and lord knows ill find 4 million typos after i post it but im happy i finally got the ball rolling. the next few chapters are absolutely going to turn into torture porn so if youre not into that id advise stopping here. thanks for reading! its bad but im trying

“So... we're gonna roll through Tanabrae.” Prompto notes, the enthusiasm gone from his tone.

Ignis has his head turned toward the window, and Prompto thinks he looks as though he were focused on the desert rolling by, if he didn't know any better. This is the first time he's ever taken a train, and the experience is already tainted with the tension between his two best friends. Gladiolus is so far removed, he sits behind everyone, back turned while Noctis broods nearby.

Noctis has been quiet for some time now. When Prompto sneaks glances at him, the prince is usually looking towards the floor, hands clasped together in his lap. He appears thoughtful, disconnected from the presence of his friends, maybe even a little bit sulky.

“Not before visiting the royal tomb in Cartanica.” Ignis replies soon after.

“You sure you're up to that?” Prompto doesn't try to hide his surprise.

“The wounds have mended. Eyesight's a matter of time.” Ignis lies.

Gladiolus stands up from his seat abruptly. The other passengers aboard the train were pointedly ignoring them, until the Shield is stalking up to Noctis, his mouth downcast with an angry frown.

“The hell is wrong with you?”

“What?” Noctis snaps back.

“We're not stopping in Tanabrae.”

Noctis goes rigid. Prompto can see his hands unclasp, palms settled on his knees. Gladio's words seemed to cut a little too close to the bone, because Noctis shifts to the edge of the train's red leather seat, his eyebrows furrowed with frustration while Gladiolus talks down to him. 

“You need to grow up and get over it.” 

“I am over it.” Noctis stands up, shoulders drawn back and feet positioned for a fight. “I'm here, aren't I?”

Gladio's hand reaches out fast, snagging the front of Noct's shirt in his grip and twisting. The Shield draws Noctis even closer, sizing him up, daring the prince to keep provoking him. Prince or not, Noctis isn't acting like one, and if the little king wanted to fight he sure as hell wouldn't stand there and take it.

Noctis can feel Gladio's warm breath against his face as he speaks low, close enough to his ear that he seems threatening when he tries not to make a scene. Gladiolus is determined to put him in his place, and Noctis knows it, aggravated with the constant manhandling as he breaches his personal space yet again.

“Maybe when you're not too busy moping, you can look around and give a shit about someone worse off than you.”

“Let go of me.” Noct's mouth is contorted into a hard line.

“How's that ring fit ya? You'd rather carry it around than wear it?” Gladiolus tightens his grip, pulling him against his chest, so closed in Noctis can feel his heartbeat rattle against his ribs. “She gave her life so you could do your duty, not so you could sit around feeling sorry for yourself.”

Noctis hisses through clenched teeth when Gladiolus draws him in. His head comes up to his chest, but the way Gladio looks down on him makes him feel like he comes up to his knees. It makes him bubble with anger, his expression heavy with his exasperation. The way he speaks is desperate and questioning, his hands reaching up to wrap around Gladio's wrists loosely.

“You don't think I know that!?”

“You don't!” Gladio retorts without a second thought, his hand pulling him in so close it almost hurts. “Ignis took one for you too, and for what?”

“Enough, Gladio!” Ignis shouts, trying to deter them from a fist fight in the middle of a moving train.

Gladio pauses for a moment, but only because Ignis told him to. There's too much unbridled rage there to just leave it at that, determined to have the last word, even if he knows Ignis is displeased with him already. His hand unfurls from Noct's shirt, his mouth still turned down with a grimace.

“You think you're a king, but you're a coward.”

“Shut up!”

Noctis finally pushes back. He places both hands on Gladio's chest, pulling away as he makes him stagger backwards. Gladiolus is raising his fist when Prompto jumps from his seat, begging “don't do this!” before he's flung backwards with Gladio's hand on his face. Prompto didn't anticipate being tossed away like that, just barely managing to catch himself with his hands on the seat across from Ignis.

“I get it, alright? I get it!” Noctis pushes him again, much weaker compared to the first time.

“Then get a grip! Pull your head outta your ass already!”

The prince makes a sound of dissatisfaction, turning on his feet. Prompto watches as he stalks off in the opposite direction, making a move to chase after him, until Gladio barks “leave him” like a command. 

Prompto's suddenly glad Ignis can't see the look of utter sadness on his face when he sits back down. Watching his best friend walk away like that didn't make him feel good, shoulders slumping, unsure of what to say to fill the silence. Gladiolus left in the opposite direction, but it wouldn't feel right to console Noctis when he explicitly told him not to. He doesn't want the Shield mad at him, too.

Ignis can tell just by the way Prompto falls into his seat that he's upset with everything. The enthusiasm is fading from his atmosphere, and the advisor remedies it briefly when he reaches over, taking Prompto's hand in his politely with a reassuring squeeze. It doesn't help that he can't see the expression Prompto makes, but the way he leans into his side is everything.

Noctis was trying to calm down by taking a seat in the next railroad carriage, away from the prying eyes of passengers and the frustration of his friends. He could deal with the audience, but disappointing Ignis made him feel wretched. 

At least now he can think about things without being yelled at or coddled. Nobody trails after him, so he's left alone with his thoughts for a minute, musing over the words they exchanged before he stormed off. Maybe Gladio was right when he said it was time to get over it, but how is he supposed to force himself to just hurry up and grieve? 

Lunafreya died so he could wear this ring. When he pulls it out of his pocket, it rests in his palm as light as a feather, but the burden it carries is a weight on his chest. Just as he turns it over in his fingertips, he can hear a something in the beyond, a chorus of whispering on the edge of his mind like phantoms. Noctis can't make out what they're saying, but something in his gut tells him it's awful.

The power it carries makes his arm shake. Noctis has to tighten his grip to keep it from slipping onto the floor, and the adornment carved into the silver cuts into his palm like a painful reminder. He can't face his ancestors with an unsure heart, and that's all he has right now. Noctis isn't even sure what he'd say, if not pray for release.

Noctis slips the ring back away in his pocket, eyes cast to the floor in defeat. He can't tell them that he doesn't think he can wield a power of that magnitude without crumbling. Maybe, if he can just get a little more time, they'll all be okay. Somehow.

The train pulls into the station in the late evening. Not even the picturesque sunset descending over the mountains could spare Cartanica's pit stop from ugliness, surrounded on all sides by sand and mud. The sun beats down on Noctis as he exits the train, warming him up in a way that feels unpleasant. It's not a dry heat, but a humid one, making his airway feel stuffy and his eyelids feel heavy.

Prompto is hanging over the railing when Noctis comes up to meet him. The way he shifts up behind him makes the blond jump, but he plays it off by informing him Gladio and Ignis went back to the booth to eat. It reminds him of the hollow pit in his own stomach, but he decides he'll just have to wait. 

Noctis is thankful Prompto doesn't try to bring up the altercation in the car, but the way the blond looks so forlorn over the city tells him everything he has to know. A part of him wants to reach out and touch him, but the king refrains from public displays of affection like that while they're in the open. It'd probably look weird, and the last thing he wants is more attention.

“You okay?” Noctis folds his arms over the metal railing.

“Huh?” Prompto turns, clearly caught in a daydream. “Oh. Yeah. How about you?”

The prince shrugs. Prompto nods like he knows the feeling well, shifting his elbow over, nudging Noctis with it like an attempt at intimacy without trying to be obvious.

“Gladio's not staying with us, if that's what you're worried about.”

“You know me too well.” Noctis mumbles.

“I wonder why he wanted his own room.”

“He's probably getting laid. Who cares.”

Prompto knows Noctis replies with disdain because he's angry, though he still can't help but flinch. Noct doesn't notice, already gazing out at the horizon, fingertips drumming rhythmically on the metal bar. 

Prompto doesn't know why the comment bothers him, but it eats away at him a little more than he'd like to admit. Just as he's about to let the topic die, Noctis turns, resting his back up against the railing with a gentle sigh.

"If it bothers you, why don't you stay with him?”

When Noct steals a glance at him, Prompto's face is red. The blond shifts around in one place, and Noctis isn't sure if he's shy or just humiliated. After a while, Prompto shakes his head no, leaning back on his heels flippantly.

“I'm not sure he'd like that so much. Besides, if he's getting laid, I wouldn't wanna interrupt.”

The prince isn't sure what to say. A small part of him wants to keep teasing, but there's too much on his mind. Trying to put himself in a good mood feels like a mountain instead of a molehill. Taking his mood out on Prompto wasn't his finest decision, but the blond seems to be brushing it off well enough, putting on a happy face in spite of everything.

“I could grab us some grub if you want?” Prom suggests, turning the conversation elsewhere.

“Nah.” Noctis starts, but upon seeing the way Prompto's face falls, he quickly continues his sentence. “... I can do it.”

The blond perks up visibly, pleased he isn't being shut down. Noctis has a tendency to push people away when he's sulking, so being allowed this tiny vice feels like a big deal. The prince leans his head back, eyes closed like he's thinking, an errant breeze making him sway.

“Why don't we eat back at the room?”

“Yeah! Like a sleepover! Been a while since we had one of those, huh, Noct?”

Noctis forgot all about those until now. There was a time long before now, back in Insomnia, when Prompto would stay over and play games until the sun rose the next day. It was always Noct's for obvious reasons: Prompto's family just wouldn't show up on a weekend, and the blond would call over asking to spend the night. It seems so long ago now the memories are fuzzy, but he can remember sharing a bed then too.

Prompto notices the remnants of a smile ghosting Noct's face for a brief moment in time, but the prince soon stands up straight again, looking just as melancholy as he did the day before.

“I'll meet you there in fifteen?”

“You got it!”

*

Gladiolus approached Ignis before they got off the train, asking gruffly if he'd so kindly accompany him for dinner. The tone of voice he used made it clear that it was a private affair, and Ignis excused himself from Prompto's company politely, allowing him a few minutes of respite before bedtime. The advisor knows Prompto doesn't like to be alone, but the subject of discussion will no doubt be one Gladio doesn't want him overhearing.

Ignis settled himself into one of the red leather dining booths with little difficulty, feeling his cane removed from his hand by Gladio's warm grip as he settles. He doesn't have an appetite for train food, and judging by the silence that follows after Gladiolus sits down in the seat across from him, the Shield doesn't have one either.

“I'm sorry about that, back there.” Gladio begins, finally ending the pensive silence between them.

“I'm not the one you should be apologizing to.” Ignis replies astutely.

“Who should I be apologizing to? Noctis?”

Ignis can hear Gladiolus scoff from across the table. He doesn't need to see his face to know he's frowning, but the advisor doesn't seem phased. On the contrary, when Gladio cracks open an ebony and sets it on the table in front of him, Ignis picks it up in one fluid motion of his hand as though he can see exactly where it is.

“That's a start.”

“I don't think Prompto's upset I got short with his Majesty.”

“You'd be surprised.” Ignis responds blandly. “I'm not going to reprimand you. You should already know what you did wrong.”

Gladiolus exhales sharply through his teeth. Ignis can hear his fingertips tapping impatiently on the table, but he has all the time in the world. If Gladio wished to remove himself, Ignis would get along just fine. Stumbling would be embarrassing, but he's already humiliated over the fight. Falling flat on his face would hardly add to it.

“I was tellin' the truth.”

Ignis's face falls, eyebrow raising. Gladio feels the look of disappointment bore straight through him.

“He's grieving, Gladio.” Ignis's voice is barely above a whisper, but still chastising. “He's lost his betrothed.”

“I lost my dad, Ignis.” Gladio's volume is starting to rise. “Iris doesn't have a father anymore, and for what? So he could ignore his duty to Lucis? Make a run for it to Tanabrae, have a breakdown over a girl he hasn't seen in twelve years?”

The look the bartender casts over the counter is what makes him quiet, like he's deliberating on whether or not to kick him out. Gladiolus pretends he doesn't notice, and when he looks back up they're no longer being scrutinized. Ignis takes a swig of his Ebony, letting the quiet chatter of passengers across the room fill the silence.

“Noct didn't ask for any of this to happen.” Iggy's voice is a bit softer, kinder. “I just don't think engaging in fisticuffs with him in the middle of the train would be your wisest decision.”

Gladiolus can feel his face heat up with sheepishness, remembering quickly that Ignis can't see the face he makes with his injury. Something tells him it doesn't matter: Ignis was always so observant, he can probably hear the way his tone drops with guilt anyway, no eyesight necessary.

“I didn't think you saw that.” Gladio mumbles.

“I'm blind, not deaf.” Ignis almost laughs.

The sound of footsteps approaching the table accompanies Gladio's silence, and Ignis can tell it's someone the Shield doesn't want to see, the air thickening with tension like a dense fog. It's the tell-tale sound of Noctis ordering food that draws his attention, head turning toward him so subtly it doesn't look like he's eavesdropping purposefully.

Gladio is the one who notices the subtle changes in Ignis's demeanour when Noctis walks in, barely sparing him any more than a passing glance on the way by. He doesn't want to look at him. Instead of continuing their quiet conversation, he turns his head out the window, ignoring the prince pointedly and feeling grateful Ignis doesn't try to keep the topic going.

Time has never felt so stretched out before. It's only a three minute wait, but every second that passes feel like hours, lengthened by the prince's presence at the counter after he orders his meal. Ignis notes that he's ordering for two, pleased he's caring for Prompto in his absence. It's not an absence he wants to have for long, feeling lost in himself without a schedule to follow, like those days in Lestallum and the Grotto.

It takes a good amount of effort not to say goodbye when he hears the sound of footsteps receding. In his mind, he can picture Noct's frown, the soft curve of his lips as he sulks back to the safety of his bedroom. Normally it wouldn't make him feel very good, but now that he can't see it first-hand he's left with just the image of his pretty little face pouting so cutely at him.

“Don't tell me it hasn't been bothering you. You've been head over heels for the guy so bad it hurts me just lookin' at you.”

Ignis can feel his gut lurch. The words in his head die before they can reach his mouth, thoughts travelling too fast to keep track of. 

In one spectrum of his mind, it occurs to him that this conversation must be why Gladio wanted to speak to him privately in the first place. It's definitely not something he'd wish to discuss around Prompto, but Gladio isn't a much better option. Ignis loves them both deeply and values their friendship, but Prompto's not very good at privacy and Gladio's advice for everything is too straight edge.

Ignis came to terms with the fact that Gladio was aware of his 'feelings' when they were in Lestallum, preparing to set sail. Being confronted so blatantly last time caught him off guard, but this just makes him feel sick. Gladiolus is outright accusing him of being upset over Noct's bond with Lunafreya, who died carrying the ring that held all hope to his beloved, murdered callously while his prince could do nothing but watch.

“No, it doesn't bother me.” Ignis doesn't mince words.

“I know you didn't want to see him married.”

It feels like Gladiolus just reached over and delivered an open-hand slap across Ignis's face. Gladio can see how the advisor flinches, but there's no part of him that feels happy about being right. There's no 'I told you so' that follows, or even patronizing commentary meant to make Ignis feel even worse. Instead of a cruel or sardonic reply, Gladio takes Ignis's hands in his, cradling them between his palms in a gesture that's both submissive and possessive.

“You're not a bad guy, Ignis.” Gladio uses a tone he doesn't take very often.

Ignis is unconvinced. Everything about this makes his guilty conscience feel like screaming. The way he holds his hands makes him feel too vulnerable for comfort, like Gladio is peering into places that would be better left unseen. All his attempts at sweeping his shame under the rug were for nothing, and he's left sitting in a train booth as it gets pulled out from under him.

“That doesn't mean I'm upset by his grievance.” Ignis keeps his voice level. “They were friends, Gladio. They kept a correspondence. Regis may have made the final call regarding the arrangement, but Noctis agreed to the wedding.”

“Yeah, unity between nations. Look at how well that worked out.” Gladio scoffs. “They killed his father at the treaty signing, torched the kingdom, and now you can't aim when you piss.”

It's so bleak, Ignis barks a laugh. He knows he really shouldn't, but he can tell by the way Gladio holds his hands tighter that it made him smile.

“Look, you can't lie to me. I've known you too long. Just... fuck, Iggy. Quit with the self-sacrificing crap. You're killing yourself and I'm watchin' you do it.”

It's this comment that makes the advisor slip his hands out of Gladio's, wrapping around his ebony instead. Gladiolus has his hands rested on the table for a few moments longer before pulling them back to his sides, a sigh so gentle Ignis isn't sure he heard it over people talking quietly somewhere behind him.

“In case you've forgotten, that's our duty to the Crown.”

“That's not our duty, it's my duty.” Gladiolus has an edge to his voice now, and Ignis can hear him shift to the edge of the booth.

“Gladio.”

“Ignis.”

“The risks that come with protecting the king are ones I've already come to terms with.”

“There's no point in dying if it could've been prevented, Specs. You're much better use to us alive than you are dead.”

Ignis can hear him sigh again. The leather underneath him creaks when he moves, and he can feel the handle of his cane pressed back into his hand.

“I'll take you back, but I want you to remember what I said.”

Ignis stretches his mouth into a straight line. The conversation is replaying itself in his head, over and over, a persistent itch he can't scratch. Gladiolus and his duty, Noctis and his marriage, Prompto and his emotional instability.

“I'm afraid I'll have a hard time forgetting.”

*

“Did they say anything?”

Prompto asks through a mouthful of food, his legs crossed on the bottom bunk across from Noct's bed. He's stripped of his jacket already, wearing something more casual for bed in the humid temperature.

“Nah. They got real quiet when I came in.”

It's times like these Noctis wish he could step outside, but he settles for cracking open the window and letting the cool evening air clean out the train's mugginess. Everything feels so boxed in, Noct's kind of surprised Prompto doesn't feel claustrophobic.

“Well, if the big guy will listen to anyone, it's Ignis.”

“If Iggy doesn't side with him.”

“Dude.” Prompto deadpans. “Iggy is in looooove with you. Besides, it's not about picking a side. Gladio's pissed, but he's not trying to turn anyone against you.”

“Iggy's not in love with me, dope.” Noctis rolls his eyes. “How can you be so sure?”

“I'm a simple man. I eat, and I know things.”

“That's not very reassuring.”

Prompto sets his now clean tray aside, stretching his limbs out with a long yawn. Eating made him tired, which is convenient when he's already in bed. He figures he'll make Noctis carry them out later, wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand unceremoniously. 

“The only person who doesn't know how much Ignis loves you is you. And as for Gladio... he can be a hardass at times, but he loves you too. You're like his little brother, that's why he's so hard on you.”

It's not the first time Noct's found himself speechless. Prompto doesn't seem to notice, shifting to the edge of the bed, hands on his knees while he stares him down. Noctis looks contemplative for a few seconds, but the expression quickly fades into resigned anger when the episode earlier starts to replay. 

“Have you ever considered sleeping with him?”

Noctis can feel the heat rush over his face like a wave, turning his head away quickly before Prompto notices the blush on his cheeks. It's not quick enough, because Prompto breathes a soft sounding laugh, making Noctis sit up straighter from where he's splayed across his bunk bed.

“Dude, I don't wanna talk about this after you just called him my brother.”

“All I'm saying. I bet a hard fuck would unwind him a little.”

“Why don't you sleep with him, if you're so intent on getting him laid?”

“I think it might be a good stress reliever for you too. A bonding experience, even.”

“You're so weird.”

Noctis mutters, but Prompto can feel the affection. The blond beams a smile at him, happy when Noct responds with a small upturn of his lips. It's not a lot, but it's a small something he can cling to.

The door opens almost soundlessly, but the subtle click of the handle makes Noctis jump to attention. It's just a tired looking Ignis, who yawns when he enters in substitute of a greeting. Prompto almost immediately jumps off his bed, reaching out to take his cane, carefully guiding him to the bed he was just sitting on.

There's a part of Noct that feels guilty for not jumping up to help immediately, but it looks like Prompto handles things just fine. Maybe even better than he thought Prom would, like he's playing mother hen in Ignis's stead. It reassures him for the trip into the Fedina Caestino tomorrow, though he knows Gladio's going to put up a fuss about having Iggy along.

“So... what did you guys talk about?”

Noctis shoots Prompto a look when he asks the question so plainly, but Prompto shrugs at him silently like he's not sure how to broach the subject otherwise. The only respite is that Ignis doesn't seem perturbed by the question, settling back over the bed with his forearm resting over his eyes. The cane is set aside, but Ignis doesn't have his shoes off, too tired to bother just yet.

“Urine.”

Prompto does a double take.

“Y- You talked about... pee?”

“My aim, specifically, which I can assure you is as impeccable as ever.”

Ignis's shoulders heave while he exhales a long sigh, and Noctis can see him sink even deeper into the small mattress. The prince knows he's keeping something from him, but he also knows better than to expect an honest answer. He could always order Ignis to tell him, but that would be a massive breach of his privacy, and Noctis doesn't want to have that kind of authority over him.

“And Noctis thinks I'm the weird one.” Prompto shakes his head, climbing up onto the top bunk above Ignis's bed.

“I have nary a doubt in my mind, Prompto.” Ignis replies with a tired droll.

“Hey, what's that supposed to mean?”

“Mean's you've gotta work on concealing your weirdness better.” Noctis responds, turning to find Prompto sticking his tongue out at him.

“I think it shows character, thank you very much.”

“You're right.” Noct murmurs. “You wouldn't be you without it.”

It's as good as a compliment, settling a little beam of warmth in Prompto's chest.

“You should get some sleep. Tomorrow's a big day.” 

“You sound like Ignis.”

“Do not! What do you think, buddy?”

There's silence from Ignis for a few beats. Prompto leans over the edge of the bed when he doesn't reply, but Ignis's arm is still over his eyes, positioned the same way he was ten minutes ago. The steady rise and fall of his chest is how Prom can tell he's asleep, but when he raises his gaze back to his best friend, Noctis is staring at Iggy fondly for a few seconds longer.

“I can snap a pic if you want it for later.” Prompto teases him quietly, amused by how red Noctis gets.

“I think he'd kill you if he found out.” Noctis responds back with his voice just above a whisper, shifting to sit at the edge of his bed. “I need to clean out the trash anyway.”

“Say hi to Gladio for me.”

It takes willpower not to throw his pillow at him, but he doesn't want to risk waking up his advisor. Noctis gathers the empty food trays in his arms, making a point to ignore both his comment and the look Prompto shoots him from above. 

The windows that align the hall on the opposite side are too grimy to see out of, smudged with dirt from many long journeys over great distances. It's too bad, he would've liked to see something scenic, but this whole trip has been nothing but disappointments so far.

Noct tosses everything into the trashcan, paying little mind to the sound of a door sliding open behind him. It's the sound of footsteps stopping short that calls his attention, out of place given there's little to see. When the prince wheels around, his jaw clenches when he sees Gladio frowning at him from outside his bedroom.

He wants to say something about how late it is, and question why he was leaving his room in the dead of night, but he can't seem to find the words. Gladiolus seems to know what he wants to say, because he turns back around, entering his room again whilst leaving the door behind him wide open.

Something roots him to the floor for a moment. Noctis almost doesn't want to confront him, tempted to turn around and walk straight back to his room, but curiosity wins over his better judgment. His feet feel heavy as he treads across the carpet, nearing the doorway with a nervous tickle in his stomach that he can't seem to shake. He doesn't know what he's expecting, but Gladio stands there with his arms crossed, mouth set into a frown.

“Close the door behind you.”

Noctis frowns when he's commanded, but something about the stern tone he takes makes him step forward before his brain can catch up with him. He turns to shut the door, but when his fingers finish setting the lock in place, he's taken aback with a sharp gasp as Gladio wheels him around.

“What's the big idea, huh?”

The prince hisses through his teeth when his back hits the door hard. Gladio has his broad arm draped across his chest, applying just enough pressure to keep him there. He's sure his Shield can feel his heart thundering in his chest, his own hands reaching up to grasp at Gladio's strong forearm. It feels fruitless, Gladio's too big to even get both hands all the way around.

“What are you even talking about? You called me in here, remember.” Noct sounds exasperated already, struggling against his grip only to feel a tighter pressure against his chest.

“You always go skulking around at night like that?”

“I wasn't skulking.”

Gladiolus ignores him. Noctis can feel the warmth of his body as his Shield presses up against him, pinned between the door and his frame. He holds him there as easily as holding a doll, and Noctis almost wants to ask him how much he feels like he weighs, stopped short when Gladio leans in and licks over his mouth slowly.

“Or maybe... you were looking for something.”

Noctis is still bristling, but having his warm tongue glide carefully over his mouth makes his cock jump. His lower abdomen is starting to feel warm, compelling him to both stay still and keep his mouth shut. Gladio can tell by the way his expression contorts into frustration that he's starting to feel good, mouth turning up with a satisfied smile.

“I guessed right, didn't I?”

“No.”

Gladio doesn't waver. Noctis can feel his feet touch the floor with more of his weight when Gladiolus draws his arm away, but he can feel himself lifted off the ground completely when Gladio's hands slide under his thighs soon after. Noctis scrambles to find some source of stability, his arms wrapped around his Shield's neck, clinging tightly to avoid a swift drop to the floor.

“That isn't very convincing.”

“You're wrong.”

If they weren't fighting, Noctis might've actually liked being up here, pinned between the cold metal and Gladio's warmth. The way he holds him feels kind of secure, despite the taunting nature of his words instilling him with aggravation.

Gladio moves slightly to the side, and Noctis's hands clutch even tighter into the fabric of his wifebeater, caught off guard by his readjustment and determined not to get dropped. Gladiolus almost looks amused that he grips him so desperately, but the movement of his hips distracts him when he can feel Gladio's hard cock grinding rhythmically between his legs.

Noctis can't close his legs in this position, but Gladio can feel him trying when Noct's thighs squeeze tighter around his waist. The embarrassment Noct wears is intoxicating, his fingers digging into Gladio's shirt when he ruts into his length just the right way. His boxers slide against his length every time his Shield is pushing into his hips, balls pressed hard against Gladio's crotch in a way that makes him whimper while he's dry humped against the door.

He doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how turned on he is, but his dick acts against his own will. There's no hiding how hard he is from Gladio at this point, who pries one of his hands away from his thigh while he's clinging like a vice, fingertips dancing over his bottom lip like he's waiting for permission.

“That isn't very convincing, either.” Gladio looks down between them, obviously pointing out Noct's erection. “Get 'em wet for me, princess. We don't have all day.”

Noctis hesitates before he licks over the pads of his fingers carefully. There's a part of him that wants to be spiteful for the sake of his pride, and another part of him that feels like submitting and doing what he says. In the end, it doesn't matter which side wins out, as Gladio's pressing two fingers deep into his mouth with impatience when he doesn't move fast enough.

Noctis can feel him sliding his fingers deeper into his throat, fingertips rubbing his tongue softly when he forces them in past his lips. He manages to keep his lips parted when he drags them in too deep, throat closing over as he threatens to gag. Gladio's digits slip back out from his lips at the last second, drool spilling over his chin as he drags saliva out of him, only to drive his fingers back in again.

Gladio's fucking his mouth carefully with his fingers while he grinds him into the wall, in time with his rutting just as Noct's jaw is relaxing. Every time he pins him harder against the wall, he's putting pressure between Noctis's legs, fucking his mouth so deep it's hard not to gag when Gladio draws a groan from him. The Shield can feel his hands clench harder when Noct heaves a pleased sob, accompanied by a wiggle from Noct's hips as he tries to make himself cum inside his pants.

“Not yet.” Gladio reprimands him lowly. It just spurs him to do it again, harder and faster, finding it difficult to move himself the way he wants when he doesn't have something to brace against.

Noctis hits the bottom bunk hard, secured tight between the mattress and Gladio's body. He may have placed him somewhere else, but the position they're in is the same, compressed under his weight this time rather than held against the door. The prince unwinds his arms from around Gladio's shoulders, but he's quickly reaching out to grip the front of his shirt instead when his pants are pulled over his ass abruptly.

Gladio doesn't bother pulling them off all the way. Noct's arraignments are left down around his thighs, forcing his knees close together, but his shirt is pulled up under his arms as Gladio looks down on him without an ounce of shame. Noctis can see the way he licks his lips over, watching him sit up on his knees, but his back arches sharply when Gladio's gliding two wet fingers over his hole without much warning.

Even in the dark, Gladio's smirk is annoying. Noctis almost wants to reach out and slap him, but he curls his fingers and fucks into his opening up to the knuckle without so much as a blink. Gladio can feel his nails dig into his chest as Noctis cries a pleased noise, his entire body lurching when his fingers inadvertently press up into his prostate. Gladiolus does it again, even harder the second time, pulling a nice loud moan from his mouth like a touch-starved whore.

“What would Iggy say if he heard you like this?”

The comment makes him burn with barely-hidden shame. Gladio's eyes are piercing through his face, relishing the way his cheeks flush a deep red colour when he's humiliated. Noctis can feel his other hand press firmly against his mouth, concealing the noises he makes when Gladio starts to finger him faster, a third digit splitting him open and making his insides feel full.

“Who am I kidding. You want him here, don't you?”

Noctis tries to exhale steadily through his nose, but his breathing is shaky against his attempts. Gladio stops fucking him and settles for pressing into his prostate, rocking his fingers up into his sweet spot so ruthlessly it has his cock leaking precum. Every time he touches him there Noct's body stiffens, hips rolling in the hopes of both getting away and getting closer to the sharp pangs of pleasure he gives. Gladiolus is still on stop of him, grinding his cock into his stomach when the prince tries to move underneath him.

Of course, nothing ever lasts. Before Noctis can think about getting off, Gladio's pulling his fingers out of him, so slowly he can feel every curve of his fingers. The sound he makes is pitiful, not one he wanted to make, but he feels so empty without him he's desperate to feel anything again. What makes it even worse is Gladiolus's apparent amusement over his neediness, who revels in the way he begs him for more.

“Find what you were looking for?”

Noctis wants to hit him. It takes a good amount of restraint not to, but the look of utter frustration that passes over the prince's face makes Gladio laugh loud, further amplifying his aggravation. Gladiolus leans in close, so close Noct can feel his breath warm against his ear, legs bending almost uncomfortably toward his chest.

“You really oughta have more patience, kid.”

He hadn't even realized Gladio had his jeans down until he starts feeling himself get filled up with cock, Noct's fingers gripping his shirt like a lifeline as his Shield fucks him open. Though he tries to arch his back, he only succeeds in pressing himself more firmly against Gladio's body, his wail nothing more than a whimper with the palm of his hand held tight over his mouth.

Gladiolus has his knees up by Noct's chest, close to bending him in half while he fucks his tight hole gradually. He can feel all the sobs that spill from his lips get caught against his palm, his grip so hard it keeps his voice from carrying through to the other bedrooms. Noctis could've probably used with more spit, but he takes his cock so nicely, it's hard to think of anything except ruining him.

Noctis feels like his dick is endless. Watching Prompto take it all almost looked easy, but Gladio is massive and it shows as he tries to ease all the way into his tight little ass. It doesn't help that his cock is so thick he can feel it graze over his prostate, still a little raw from all the touching his Shield gave him beforehand.

His eyes are starting to water against his will. Gladio's cock is heavy as it drags over his insides, the head angling up toward his sweet spot hard, purposefully making him sob with pleasure every time he moves his hips. Gladiolus isn't even fucking him in earnest yet and he already feels wide open, heat pooling in his abdomen, threatening to make him cum when he hasn't even been touched yet.

“What would people think, finding the crowned prince of Lucis taking his Shield's cock so well?”

The end of his sentence is punctuated by faster thrusting of his hips. Every time Gladio's bottoming out, a loud sob wrenches from his throat, trying to swallow his spit before he makes a mess of his face. Noctis can feel him in places he didn't know existed, the smooth expanse of his lower abdomen filled out with the slightly raised bump of Gladio's dick fucking him out.

“Do you even care?”

Gladio's eyebrows furrow with irritation, fucking his hole open hard. Noctis shifts up the bed with every couple of thrusts, dragged back down on his length by his Shield's other hand wrapped around the seam of his pants. Just a few more seconds of hard fucking and Noctis is cumming hard, drenching his chest when Gladio's dragging him through one of the most intense orgasms he's ever had.

Hot tears slide down his face more freely when Gladio keeps fucking him through it, using his ass to his own benefit, Noct's hands clutching weaker and weaker at the fabric of his shirt. He writhes underneath him like he's trying to find some refuge from the constant slamming of his cock, sobbing even louder as Gladio angles the head of his dick straight back into his prostate.

Noctis is only half-hard when Gladio's dragging him through yet one more orgasm, cum spilling from the slit and dripping over his pelvis. It's so soon after the first, his scream is muffled by the palm of his hand as his lithe frame starts to tremble, a vibration through Gladio's hand that makes him shudder.

When Noctis came for a second time, Gladio felt his hole clench up around him, pulling him into climax as the prince presses himself hard against his body. Noctis whines as he feels himself filled up with cum, soon after spilling from his used hole when his Shield pulls out the rest of the way.

The prince wants to complain when Gladio pulls his pants back up, but the most he can manage is a face of disgust when he cares very little about getting cum on his clothes. His ass hurts, his jaw feels sore, and his ego is a little bruised, but two orgasms in a row left him tired and content enough to try for sleep back in his bedroom. After he changes, of course.

Gladio doesn't help him up, nor does Noctis expect him to. The prince doesn't even expect him to say goodbye at the door, barely casting a glance back at his aggravated friend when Gladio topples into the opposite bed sluggishly. There's silence as he unlocks the door, and there's silence when he shuts it behind him, entering the hallway with cum still dripping from his ass.

Still, though. He can't shake the feeling that something was different between them this time.

*

“Ready to set out?”

Ignis placed his hand politely on Noct's shoulder, drawing the prince's attention as he heard him near. The morning sun beats down on his exposed skin, warming his clothes only to cool with the gentle breeze that drifts in from the mountains in the distance.

“Come with us.” Noctis phrases it like a demand rather than a request.

“I'll manage somehow.” Ignis assures him, gentle sigh slipping past his pursed lips soon after.

Noctis isn't sure what he expected, but Gladio doesn't talk about last night. There's not even a change in his behaviour, just as ornery as he has been for the last few days. It's like last night never happened, and for Noctis, it probably shouldn't have. Prompto's 'bonding experience' theory is officially debunked, and the tension Gladio radiates sets him on edge.

The elevator to the mines is a rickety old thing that makes Prompto feel nervous. He lingers close to Ignis both because the mechanism and the tension between his friends makes him anxious, duly noting the way Noct and Gladio avoid eye contact with each other.

The Fedina Caestino is a mine unlike the Grotto where the prince first fell sick. It's a massive hole dug into the wet earth, a massive tree extending roots from the muck and grime like tunnels. One of the first thing Prompto notices is the way his feet sink into the mud below, but the next most prominent thing is the lingering smell, like old vomit on moldy bread. His face pulls into a grimace, hand reaching out for Iggy's arm.

“Feeling a little out of my element.”

“We're a foreign species in this environment. Mind we don't end up prey.” Ignis seems to appreciate the brief moment of contact, using his cane to feel the difference in terrain as they meander down a slope.

“Right. Good tip.” Noctis doesn't sound grateful, sadness playing on his words.

“Footing's bad. Watch your step.” Gladiolus doesn't respond to Noctis, regarding Ignis fondly instead.

“As best I can.” Ignis sighs softly again.

“Go at your own pace. We'll wait.” Prompto reassures him, falling behind to ensure Ignis isn't the last one in the line.

There are Sharpshears waiting for them in the calf-high water below, turned green with algae blooms and warm under the desert sun. It's nothing a few warpstrikes can't handle, inconvenienced only mildly by the pool they traverse through, but Gladio demands Ignis stay away from the fray and the lack of extra hands makes it just a bit harder.

Ignis doesn't seem very happy with the decision to hang tight either, because as Noctis is dusting his hands off after a battle well fought, the advisor is speaking with a disappointment to his voice Noctis doesn't like.

“It's proving a challenge.”

“What did you expect?” Gladiolus replies hastily. “Don't push yourself, Ignis.”

Judging by the way his Shield looks at him, Noctis knows he isn't happy about the decision to take the blind guy along. Maybe he'd even feel bad about the way Gladio looks upon him with disapproval, but Noctis is still angry, unconcerned with his opinion in a bitter way. If Gladio wanted to act like an jerk, Noct was perfectly fine with that.

There's an old hunk of machinery towering high in the middle of the mine, quite obviously abandoned by workers when the mine closed down for good. It's a contraption that appears to have been built throughout the tree like a pulley, and as Noctis approaches it, he can see an assortment of cogs and switches built at the very base meant to turn the system on. He has a good feeling he'll have to use it later, but he can't seem to figure out what it does just yet.

“I've got a feeling this is the switch that activates that big hunk of junk.” Prompto breaks the silence.

“Doesn't look like anyone's tried to use it, though.” Noctis uses a single finger to wipe away a layer of dust accumulated on the machine's surface.

“Tomb must be down below.” Gladiolus muses aloud, peering down at a tunnel forged under the tree's roots nearby, located conveniently to the left of the machine like a maze.

The terrain they take is even more rocky than the muddy slope, but the pool of water doesn't seep into tunnel, thankfully enough. In a couple of years this path will be rendered unusable by the flood, but for now, Ignis tries to guide himself over the jagged ground with an arm outstretched for balance.

“Whoa. Careful, Ignis.” Prompto follows even closer behind, his voice a reassuring presence.

Ignis heaves another sigh. “Right.”

Sure enough, the path ahead is blocked, but by a vehicle toppled on its side by the rapidly growing fauna. The roots engulf it completely, almost as if to consume it into the bark, cradling it carefully against its side like a gate. From the looks of it, it must be what the pulley is for, a deterrent for trespassers who wish to enter the depleted resource site.

“They parked here?” Gladiolus isn't amused.

“Wish we could write 'em a ticket.” Prompto tries to chuckle, but the sound dies when his attempt at lightening the mood doesn't stick.

“Nothing but a giant roadblock.” 

“Ironic, for a vehicle.”

“If we get its motor running, perhaps we can move it out of the way.” Ignis replies carefully, trying to discern the predicament in question by their commentary only.

“How 'bout we flip the switch?” Prompto suggests, enthusiasm returning briefly.

“It certainly wouldn't hurt to try.”

Prompto feels good he can offer some valuable insight on this excursion. Hearing Ignis agree has a warmth building over his chest like a hug, but his smile seems to go unnoticed to the rest of his friends, who already start trudging back up the tunnel. 

Noctis accidentally runs a little too far ahead, because Gladiolus is calling after him with a stern “is it too much to ask the royal retainers stick together?”. The prince doesn't reply, but he stops in place, resisting the urge to turn around and shoot Gladio the middle finger.

“This looks promising!” Prompto points out the rusted mechanism Noctis was looking at earlier, who tries to find some kind of symbol on the machine that points to the on switch.

“Is it operational?” Ignis questions quietly.

“We'll see.” Noctis murmurs, deciding on flipping all the switches and seeing what happens.

Black smoke starts to pour from the ventilation atop the machine, rusted cogs starting to turn, a sharp burst of air accompanying the sound of the mechanism coming to life. Just as it starts, the sound cuts off, the contraption whirring to a creaking stop.

“Hey. What're you stoppin' for?” Gladio has his arms crossed.

“I'm not.” Noctis snaps back, short with him already.

“Let's see here...” Prompto begins, changing the topic before the situation can escalate. “In case of power failure, use backup generators. There's a key in the shed!”

“So where is this shed?” Gladio turns to face him.

“Well, if we knew where it was, we wouldn't be looking.”

“Which means it's gotta be somewhere we haven't looked yet.” Noctis sounds like he's addressing a child, speaking down to Gladio the way he's been doing since Altissia.

The whole mine feels like a labyrinth. There are paths that lead to dead ends, trenches carved from the muddy earth that guide him into forks in the road, the only help being that his shoes leave tracks in the muck. It's colder down below, and Noctis knows he doesn't want to get stuck down there when nightfall comes. With his luck, he absolutely is.

Noctis can spot the abandoned shed located conveniently nearby a haven, which he takes note of for later. The mine is too big to finish scouring it all before the night starts to creep over the sky. Rather than set straight to breaking in the door, he does the careful thing and checks the cardboard boxes left open on the shelf next to it, finding it waiting for him already in a single stroke of good luck.

“Here. I found the key.”

“Pret-ty irresponsible to leave it lying out like that.” Prompto notes its odd location as well.

“Where's the generator?” Ignis asks.

“Didn't ya read the sign, Iggy?”

“... Not funny.” Noctis tries to hide his laughter by pulling his mouth into a forced frown.

There's a Gigantoad blocking the way to one of the generators, which Gladio enthusiastically points out in the hopes of taking out his frustration with his sword. Prompto's all too happy to have him go at it, running ahead with his weapons drawn as it bellows with a throaty croak. Noctis is just trying to stay held aloft while his bad mood threatens to drag him under, continuously sneaking glances at Ignis, knowing full well his disappointment in feeling useless.

When it pushes him back with its long pink tongue, Noctis narrowly manages missing Ignis with the sharp blade of his sword, grazing his arm by just a few inches before Ignis can dodge. Gladiolus's voice is steeped with anger when he notices, hands gripping the handle of his blade so forcefully, Noctis can see them shake with his barely contained rage.

“Hey!” His voice is loud, causing Prompto to jump. “Haven't you hurt Iggy enough!?”

Noctis chokes a strained “sorry” as all his guilt pushes up from his gut at once. It feels almost like he wants to heave, but his stomach is empty, gnawing at him with anxious pangs even before Gladio's reprimanding him. 

Ignis is appreciative of the apology, but he doesn't like the tone Gladio decided to take. The advisor is silent for a long few moments, and Noctis feels isolated when he can't tell what Iggy's thinking. The Gigantoad collapses with one last battle cry, rolling over on its side, but Noctis doesn't feel victorious in any sense of the word.

The switch is flipped to the 'on' position, and the machine hums as its brought back to life.

“Did it work?” Ignis asks, straining to hear the difference.

“Yep! Just one more to go!” Prompto motivates.

“Since when were there two of them?” Noctis is exasperated, tired already and itching for a meal.

“Can it. Let's just get this thing moving so we can get on with our mission.” Gladio hisses.

It occurs to him they've just been walking around in one big circle. Noctis can see the broken machine down below, just beyond two flights of stairs, which Prompto helps Ignis walk through with an arm around his waist. The prince feels a little jealous he can't help him like that when he's supposed to be leading the way, but Prompto does such a good job caring for him, he supposes he doesn't have a right to complain. 

“Found it.” Noctis finds the switch between the set of stairs, relief in his tone of voice.

“Uh, is that your final answer?” Prompto asks, looking up from Ignis's side.

“What?” Noctis snaps. “Are you telling me I'm wrong?”

“Yeah. Get over it and keep looking.” Gladio mumbles.

By the time they find the second generator, Ignis has already fallen to his knees twice. Prompto is sweet enough not to say anything about it, allowing Ignis to keep his pride, the short blond helping him from the ground each time. While he may have tried to play it off, he knows his knees are dirty, humiliated despite Prompto's best efforts.

“We've got the power!” The blond beams as Noctis turns on the last switch.

“Might not have it for long, though. Hurry up and move the machine.”

“Yes, sir.” Noctis mutters.

Steam pours from the ventilation shaft for a second time as Noctis flips all the switches back on, filling the air with the strong scent of charcoal. The machine doesn't die this time, rusted mechanisms groaning as they start to turn after years without use, accompanying the sound of metal screeching elsewhere from the tunnel. The pulley must've pulled it up, clearing the way toward the tomb.

“Hold up.” Gladiolus stops him from moving forward. Ignis and Prompto have fallen behind, observing them quietly, silent voyeurs as the Shield confronts his king. “You sure you're ready for this? You got what it takes?”

“To do what?” Noctis exhales.

“To face your ancestors and convince them to lend you their strength. Got a long road ahead. Can you see this through? To the end?” Gladio's arms are folded across his chest.

“As if I have a choice! You think I like people sacrificing themselves for me, one after the other?”

“Enough. Forget it. I thought you'd accepted your duty. I thought wrong.”

*

Gladiolus has his hand poised on Ignis's lower back as he guides him to the closest chair. Plantagh Haven is dry respite for the night, but the air is a cold chill with every breeze. Noctis is almost looking forward to being sandwiched in between everyone, until Gladio pulls out a second tent, setting it aside for later.

Prompto takes Iggy's cane from his hands as his advisor finds himself a seat. Noctis has his gaze turned toward the ground while he gets lost in his thoughts, and Gladio settles into the seat across from him before getting up again almost immediately. The Shield turns away from his sulking, sitting on the cooler instead, his back facing the group as he shuts everyone out.

Noctis doesn't mind. He doesn't pay much attention to it, letting the upset look on Prompto's face pass by unnoticed. Prompto clutches Ignis's cane a little tighter in his hands, unsure of where to sit, before deciding on the chair Gladio passed up when he didn't want to look at Noctis anymore.

“Took more photos today.” Prompto chews at his bottom lip. “You... wanna see?”

“No. Not really.”

“Yeah. O- Of course.”

Gladio devours his cup noodles in less than five minutes, tossing the empty container to the side carelessly. It tastes sour in Noct's mouth, every bite poisoned with his displeasure seeping through. The silence feels stifling even to him, but there's nothing he can say that isn't goading or insulting. Not even Prompto tries to think of something to say, allowing the moments to pass by in disquieted peace.

“I suppose it's time I retire.” Ignis proposes finally. “Best to reserve our strength for the day ahead.”

“I'll take you.” Noctis jumps on the opportunity before Prompto can, desperate to remove himself.

“Prompto, help me with this.” Gladio gestures the blond closer, referring to the tent still laid out.

Prompto is already hyper-vigilant to the growing tensions between his friends, but he doesn't sense anything out of the ordinary about his request. He's eager to show off his skills at a taut-line hitch without being helped, a little bit of a show off for Gladio's attention, even more-so when his friend is irritated. There's something about his approval he craves, crouching down by the tent's stakes, already setting out on tying the tethers together.

“It's going to be a cold one tonight.” Prom shivers, cursing himself for not packing heavy.

Gladio doesn't respond, fixated on the tent instead of watching Prompto too closely. He's afraid if he looks up he'll see Noctis watching him, but the tell-tale sound of a zipper being done back up follows his silence. For a few minutes, at least, Gladio has a semi-private moment alone with his blond favourite.

“I'm sorry if I... did something, or said something...” Prompto trails off, drawing Gladio's gaze back up to his face.

“You're cool, blondie.”

“R- Really?”

“Yeah.” Gladio pauses. “It's not you.”

“Oh.” Prompto blinks, feeling stupid for asking. Or thinking Gladio would find him cool. “Right.”

Gladio can tell the blond is nervous about something. Just from the way his mouth seems to frown a little tighter, fingers fumbling with a knot. There's something about the way he uses what Gladio taught him that makes the Shield feel some kind of pride, a slow smile spreading across his face as Prompto fiddles with the rope.

“Those aren't bad, kid.”

Prompto perks up visibly under his praise, like a flower blossoming in the sun. He even seems a little brighter as he smiles back, blue eyes roving over Gladio's mouth in a way that makes the Shield feel like blushing himself.

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Gladiolus takes in his smile like an image to look at later. Prom's still grinning long after he pays him the compliment, more confident in his skills even with the small praise. Gladio's finished before Prompto is, but his handiwork is good, for a beginner. The Shield offers his hand before pitching the tent, helping Prompto from the ground first, holding it even after he's standing up straight.

“I guess I just... wanted to apologize for puttin' my hands on you like that.”

“Oh, that?” Prompto makes a sound like a scoff. “I can take it. I'm not gonna break if you get a little rough with me.”

Gladio can't put his finger on why that's so appealing, but the way he says it makes his cock throb with interest after he responds so nonchalantly. Prompto doesn't seem to notice the double entendre, yawning loud and stretching as he glances between their tents.

“We should probably hit the hay, huh, big guy?”

“Yup.”

The silence stretches thin. Prompto worries away at his bottom lip again, a question Gladio already knows sitting on the edge of his tongue. As sadistic as it sounds, there's something about watching Prompto squirm that makes him smile, watching as heat crawls up his cheeks as Prom breathes a nervous laugh.

“Um...” He starts, coming to a stop when he has to think about how to phrase his request. “... do you think I could, uh, stay with you for a bit?... I don't wanna interrupt them.”

“Good.” Ignis's voice is bland through the thin layer of tent. Prompto can hear Noctis start laughing.

“Hey!”

“What's the matter, buddy? Is watching not your thing?”

Maybe if he were in a better mood, Gladio might've played along. He's silent as he watches Prompto's face get even redder, stuttering out some kind of defence that goes unnoticed. Gladiolus doesn't realize Prompto's been looking at him until the blond clears his throat, drawing his attention back up to his eyes instead of his soft looking mouth.

“I guess.” 

He clings to the smile Prompto makes, letting the feeling sit in his stomach like a seed.

*

There are a million things he wants to say, but he can't find the words. Ignis is turned away from him, breathing steadily, still trying to slip into sleep long after Prompto is retiring to bed with the Shield. Noctis isn't sure where he'd begin. Part of him wants to ask if what Prompto said about loving him was true, and part of him wants to bury it deep down and forget he ever brought it up.

Noctis isn't sure if he wants to tell Ignis about the ring, either. He has an inkling Ignis already knows about his apprehension to face his ancestors, but he doesn't think talking to him about it would make him feel any better. Ignis usually knows what to say to make him feel comforted, but this is something he has to deal with on his own.

Gladiolus isn't making things easy for him, either. Every snappy comment or quick retort burrows at his psyche a little deeper, and the words they exchanged earlier gnaw at his mind relentlessly. He's about as resolved as he can get at this point, and Gladio's still demanding more, more, more. Noctis would apologize if he thought it would do any good, but he still can't get Tanabrae out of his head.

It's the only reason he won't. Gladio might be right about Luna dying so he could wear the ring, but bringing up her death like she took one for the team was uncalled for. Lunafreya never had to die. It was an act of pure malice from a man Noctis never should've trusted, and he blames himself for being incapable of protecting her. She was ten feet away. It was a single warpstrikes distance, and he watched the life leave her eyes.

Noctis doesn't remember falling asleep. One moment his eyes are staring at the dark wall of the tent, listening to the fire crackle outside, and the next he's back at the altar in Altissia. The same scene plays out before him, every time, the pain on Luna's face almost tangible in his nightmares. Every time, he watches her slip from the stone floor, and every time, his fingers fail to reach her in time before she disappears beneath the waves.

The dream changes, and suddenly they're back in Aracheole Stronghold, only this time Noctis is alone. It's Ardyn's hands that grasp his neck tightly, sealing off his airway, squeezing until Noct is clawing desperately at his arms. Ardyn never seems to feel it, but the fear and adrenaline that courses through Noct's body is palpable, wrenching desperately in the hopes that he'll pry out of his grasp.

“Next time, you might not be so lucky.” Ardyn's voice is directly in his ear, but Noctis can see his mouth unmoving above him.

When Noctis wrenches himself out of sleep with a whimper, launching himself up straight, Ignis is already awake. The beating of his heart starts to slow when he's no longer in the middle of his night terror, but his eyes flicker wildly over the tent like he's expecting a third presence in their midst.

“Noctis?” Ignis sounds worried, speaking just above a whisper, as not to wake the others in the opposite tent.

“I'm fine.” Noctis inhales deeply, trying to catch his breath.

“You were tossing in your sleep.” Ignis reaches over, his hand warm on Noct's back. “... You were crying.”

Noctis wipes his cheeks off with his hands, pulling them away to find his fingers wet with salty water. He feels embarrassed, like he was caught saying something in his sleep, quickly cleaning up his face on the edge of his shirt. Though he tries to laugh it off, it doesn't sound very convincing, and he feels Ignis's hand retreat after a second.

“If you wish to talk about it, I--”

“I don't.” Noctis replies a little too fast, clearing his throat quickly. “Just some bad dreams, that's all.”

Ignis looks visibly disgruntled. Noctis wishes he would reach over and touch him again, under his shirt with his bare hands, but the advisor shifts in one place and responds with a terse sounding “alright”. Sharing his dreams would just make both of them upset, and the last thing he needs right now is Ignis with even more issues on his plate.

“Can we just...” Noctis quiets for a long moment. “... hug for a minute, or something?”

“... Yes. That would be fine.”

It's not a request Ignis thought he was going to ask, but he can't see anything wrong in offering him some physical comfort, even if it tests the boundaries he set in place to keep his heart from breaking. Noctis needs this, and Ignis has always placed his needs above all else.

The sound of his sleeping bag rustling accompanies the feeling of warmth against Ignis's side as the prince draws closer in the dark, and for a sinking moment, it almost feels like they're back at the grotto again. This time is different, because Noctis is fine and just looking for support, but it's like a painful reminder of a time he can never get back.

Noct slips beneath the sleeping bag before Ignis can protest, cuddled up against his side as his hand rests softly over Ignis's chest. The tactician wants to argue that this isn't a hug, but he can't bring himself to do so, relishing the way the prince feels slotted comfortably against his side. Noctis is trying to get him to lie back down, and it doesn't take a whole lot of persuasion, sinking into his sleeping bag with the prince in his arms wordlessly.

“We need to discuss the possibility you have post traumatic stress.”

“Not tonight, Specs.”

“Not tonight, but soon.” Ignis promises.

“I'll think about it.”

“It wasn't a question.”

“Can't discuss it with me if I don't wanna.”

“Noctis.”

Ignis's voice is just reprimanding enough to draw Noct's attention to him. Sure enough, Ignis is looking down on him with disapproval.

Noctis isn't sure why it makes him feel so hollow this time. Normally looks like that are just to make a point, but this one in specific makes him cave, falling in on himself in pieces like a city crumbling to the sea. There's no room to move away when he's already in Ignis's blanket, and he can't turn away without touching him still, so his face melts with sadness when Ignis can hear him sniffle. He can't do anything about it in this position, and his advisor gets a front row seat to the pity party.

On the contrary, Ignis reaches out, cupping Noct's face in his hands for the first time in weeks. Naturally Noctis wants to reel himself away from his tender touches, conceal the tears that pour from his eyes and onto his shirt, but his limbs feel like weights and Ignis's touches are pinning him there while he wipes away the remnants with his thumbs.

“Hush now.” Ignis sounds sympathetic. “No need for tears. We'll talk about it when you're ready.”

Noctis makes a whimpering noise that makes Ignis's stomach drop to the floor. He can't see his expression, but he can feel the frown he wears under his hands, his fingertips still dancing idly over the curve of Noct's jawline. After a while, Noctis finally replies, his voice so small and strained Ignis isn't sure he heard him correctly at first.

“I love you.” Ignis can feel Noct's hand grip his shirt. “Please don't leave me.”

It's pitiful and maddening at the same time. The world around him seems to stop turning, if only for a moment, his words replaying in his head like a melody. How long he's waited and longed and hoped to hear those words, and here they are, spoken between sad sniffles in a voice so tired he can almost feel it. Ignis doesn't speak, but it doesn't matter, as Noctis leans in and kisses his lips softly without waiting for a reply.

“I'm not going anywhere.” Ignis responds softly. “... I love you too.”

Noctis kisses him again. Ignis leans into it, allowing him to take the lead, shutting off the part of his brain that controls 'principle' and 'morality'. It's easy to do when every gentle peck feels like his own personal taste of heaven, and when Noctis tries to slide his warm tongue into his mouth, Ignis finds himself parting his lips smoothly and letting Noct get a taste of him, too.

“Say it again.” Noctis murmurs close to his mouth.

“I love you.” Ignis finds the words come smooth, rolling off his tongue as easily as talking about the weather.

All this time Iggy's been thinking of his own selfishness, and it's never occurred to him Noctis might need it too. Every subtle touch and lingering glance he latches to in dwindling hope, and Noctis was relishing all of his devoted attention, giving him all the physicality he craved in return for his unwavering faith. Noctis was his moon, but Ignis was the dark that gave him shine.

Noctis at his shirt as he lies back down, beckoning Ignis on top of him. There's not a single desire to pull away or remind him of how inappropriate this is, just this burning need to feel him, letting Noctis find his lips with every kiss he can only feel. He'd give up his legs if he could see him just one more time. This is a vice that will have to do instead, feeling and touching every inch of soft skin.

This pressure isn't the same one Gladio's was. Where the Shield kept him pinned down, Ignis ensnares him underneath his tall frame passionately, his hands roving up his shirt and over his arms to his heart's content. Noctis is patient as Ignis sees him with his hands, his breathing shaky when his fingertips graze over sensitive flesh like a tickle.

The prince slides his arms around Ignis's shoulders, one of his hands threading through his hair, stroking through tousled strands of blond so softly he can hear Ignis exhale slow. It's not long before he can feel how hard Ignis is, caught off guard when he leans his hips in between Noct's spread legs. His cock is so stiff it's almost painful.

His pants aren't even off, and it already feels like he's being made love to. Noctis exhales sharp gasps every time Ignis rolls his hips between his legs, the fabric of his clothes grinding hard against the head of his cock, cum seeping into his pants already. Ignis is adoring how responsive he is, using his breathing to set the pace, still amazed he's humping the crown prince and even more flabbergasted Noctis actually enjoys it.

“Lemme take them off.” Noct tries to keep his voice level.

Ignis pauses, and for a second, Noctis almost thinks he's going to back out. Instead the advisor lifts himself up with his hands on the floor, giving Noct just enough room to shimmy his pants off in their shared confined space. 

Iggy laments how disappointing it is that he can't see him, picturing the flush on his face and how pretty the shade must look. He's so busy with his own imagination, a sharp gasp pulls from his mouth when Noctis is rubbing his soaked hand over his hard cock, pulling him from daydreams and back into the tent.

“Will you go in me?”

Noctis takes the groan that spills from his mouth as a yes. Ignis feels totally solid in his hand, pre-cum dripping from the slit already, which Noctis uses to liberally coat his dick with. If there's something he's learned from their brief encounters, it's that he can never be too wet, pulling his hand out of his pants just to lick his hand again and slick him back up.

Ignis is quiet, but Noctis can hear every soft moan he tries to hide. The prince's hand strokes him just right, his grip gentle around his cock as he jerks him off, but it dawns on him he'll have to pick up the pace if he doesn't want to cum and spoil the moment. Noctis almost feels upset when Ignis takes his hand and draws it away, but it fades fast when Ignis pulls his cock out and shoves his pants to his thighs.

“Just relax.” Ignis reminds him fondly. “I've got you.”

Relaxing is a lot harder than he makes it sound. The head of Iggy's dick rubs up against Noct's hole like he's asking for permission, but he eases inside without waiting for it, stretching him open inch by almost agonizing inch as he slowly bottoms out in his ass. Noctis is gripping at him with both hands, holding him desperately, determined to keep him there lest he float away.

Noctis does such a good job at trying to keep quiet, Ignis rewards him with some soft kisses over his face. He can feel how hot he is just from the way his lips burn against his cheek, still filling up Noct's tight hole as slow as he can without getting impatient. He didn't stretch him out this time and Noctis is still taking it all like a champ, thighs trembling when he's fucked open wide without prep.

The king practically begs him to move, his voice wracked with pleasured sobs as Ignis starts to fuck him out. His prostate is grazed every time Ignis so much as twitches his hips, drawing whimpers from his mouth that almost sound pained. The advisor is just about to ask him if he's okay when he feels his hole clench down hard, Noct's words a mantra of “Oh, Gods” as an orgasm tears through his abdomen. Ignis can hear his cum hit his chest, his own cock convulsing, groaning loud before he can help himself.

It didn't take him long at all to finish, but he feels so spent, sleep is lingering on the horizon. Ignis feels kind of bad about using his ass after the fact, but just a few more thrusts and he's cumming deep in his opening, filling him up with several loads of his cum as a shaky orgasm hits him from nowhere. He hadn't been feeling close until he heard Noctis wailing, and it might be the most powerful thing he's ever felt.

Ignis licks bitter tasting semen from Noct's chest carefully, mapping out his torso with the tip of his tongue, swallowing as he gathers cum from his abdomen. He can hear Noctis sigh and feel him tremble when he licks over certain parts of him, noting every reaction he gets to soft kisses over his hipbones and hickies over his nipples. Ignis could probably do this until daylight, but the sound of Noct's breathing starts to steady, symbolizing his descent into sleep himself.

Ignis knows Noctis will never be his. Marriage or not, it's in his destiny to die so that others may live.

It's a temporary thing, but this will have to keep him whole.

*

“It is dead?” Gladio asks, peering over the body of the dead Marlboro collapsed in the middle of the swamp.

“It is! And it's all thanks to Iggy.” Prompto pats Ignis's back, praising him for a job well done.

“Iggy. You saved us.” Noctis sounds admirable.

“Seriously.” Prompto breathes a sigh of relief. “We'd be plant food if it wasn't for you.”

“Happy to help.” Ignis replies with modesty.

“What, no royal commendation from His Majesty?” Gladio snaps.

“None for you, at least.”

“A moment?” Ignis pipes up.

“Is everything okay?” Gladio turns.

“It bloody well isn't.” Ignis bristles with anger, hands clenched at his sides. “And I won't suffer this pointless bickering in silence any longer.”

Prompto looks to the ground as Ignis reprimands them for their behaviour. He's not the one getting yelled at, but he can't help but feel that way, even if Ignis is directing his attention towards Noctis and Gladio interchangeably. Noctis looks to the ground as well, but Prompto knows it's from shame.

“Let's be frank. My vision hasn't improved, and probably won't. Yet in spite of this... I would remain with you all. 'Til the very end.”

“Sorry, but I object.” Gladiolus responds with a sternness. “War is a matter of life and death.”

“But- We'll be there!” Prompto turns on his heels, angry this time instead of Ignis. Noctis thinks it almost sounds weird, listening to Prompto get upset over something.

“It's not about us looking out for him!” 

“Uh-huh.” The blond shuts him down. “Well, then he should be free to choose.”

“There's more to it than just what he wants!”

“I know full well!”

It's the first time Noctis has heard Ignis raise his voice with anger in a long, long time. He can't bring himself to feel happy about Gladio getting yelled at, too wrought with guilt to find any satisfaction in it. Prompto turns to look at him with a bit of shock present in his features, but his eyebrows are furrowed with irritation still.

“I won't ask you to slow down. If I can't keep up, I will bow out.”

“What says 'His Majesty'?” Gladiolus swivels to face Noctis, and Prompto does the same.

“Noct, you are king. One cannot lead by standing still.”

Noctis turns to stare down Ignis slowly, dawning realization settling in with the familiarity of his words. How bittersweet it is, hearing the words of his father after such a long time, the warm fondness of recognition settling in his heart like a pleasant weight. He's surprised Ignis even remembered their first meeting after all this time, memories flooding back in torrents.

“A king pushes onward always, accepting the consequences and never looking back.”

Noctis doesn't need to say his answer, they all know it already. Just the way he looks at him is a reply in itself. There's not a chance in hell Noctis would ever go without, not so long as he has a choice in the matter. It's so very, very selfish, but Ignis is a necessity and not just a need.

“Gladio, Noct will take his rightful place, but only once he's ready.”

Gladiolus looks angry. Prompto braces himself as he waits for a reply, anticipating another confrontation, but it doesn't come.

“Have it your way. We're still taking a big risk. We better all be ready.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading this far! you don't have to read this chapter because it has no smut, so if that's what you're looking for, you can continue on to chapter 11 and skip over this. its information ill no doubt have use for later, so its more like an intermission than an actual chapter. nonetheless thanks for sticking with me this far (´・ω・`) i hope you enjoy

My whole life, all I ever wanted was friends...

... but no one ever wanted me back.

So when I finally found people who did want me,

I did everything I could to make them stay.

And ever since then, I've lived my life in fear.

That, one day, they'd find out who I really was, and they wouldn't want me anymore.

The clouds outside are a deep grey as they tumble past, threatening to open up and spill onto the freight train that housed the crown prince of Lucis. Dry grass outside reaches out toward the heavens, preparing for the oncoming storm, waiting patiently for the first rainfall of the season. The rocky mountains in the distance are the only landmarks telling how far it's been since the stop in Cartanica, but it feels like only yesterday they were departing from the windy plains of Caem.

Ignis sits across from Noctis with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, reclining leisurely in the red leather booth that separates him from the prince. The muggy humidity inside the train is so stifling that Noctis, too, discarded his jacket this time. It makes Noct's arms stick to the table where he leans forward, so close Ignis can feel the king's presence just inches away from his touch.

“Feels good to ride the rails.” Ignis tries to feign enthusiasm.

“Sure does.” Noctis replies, but it's unconvincing in a way that has Ignis deferring from the topic.

“Eager to drive once we're in Gralea?”

“If they'll let me.”

“We're fortunate enough to have the Regalia at all. We owe the secretary our thanks.” Ignis reminds him dutifully.

“She'd get more thanks if she gave us a discount.” Noctis hums.

“Those transceivers are top-notch. I recall when the Hydraean raged.”

Noctis turns away from the window to stare instead at his advisor. Conversation about the altar has been limited thus far, and for good reason, but if Ignis is willing to bring up discussion now it must be a good sign. It means Noct seems better, like he can handle it, no longer crumbling so obviously on the outside. 

“In the midst of the empire's retreat, one conspicuous craft remained behind: the chancellor's. The last thing I remember seeing was his ship, headed for the altar.”

This revelation only comes as a small surprise compared to all the twists this journey has to offer. Noctis inhales sharply, allowing his words the time to settle in, memories flooding back reluctantly.

Ignis is grateful he doesn't see through his lie. If Noctis knew about Ravus, it'd complicate things, far worse than there's any need to be. The advisor isn't sure Noct could handle the added stress of knowing about Lunafreya's brother, the attempts on his life, the desperation Ignis resorted to in order to spare Noct's life.

It was by divine mercy that the Crystal spared Ignis's life, and only luck that he managed to impress the king's ancestors with his oblation and devoted worship. If Noctis knew that Ignis readily sacrificed his life in order to save him, his prince might just shatter irreparably. It's hard, feeling helpless at the hands of your loved one's trauma, but this is a small secret that could help spare him just a little more pain.

“I fell unconscious... I was powerless to stop him.”

“I'm just glad you're alive.”

The sound of the train car snapping shut behind him alerts Ignis to another presence in the car. It accompanies a feeling that fizzles at his nerve endings like a tingle, an outline of a person in his burned out retinas, only not. Ignis may have lost his sight, but it appears as though his other senses are starting to make up for the lack of vision, a solace he can find small comfort in.

“Is there someone there?”

Noctis sits up a little straighter in his seat, leaning toward the hallway to get a better look. Ignis can 'see' that too: the outline of the prince's slender chest angling to the side, just out of reach, like a silhouette in a dark too dense to make out. The prince is more like a warmth that precedes a touch, begging him to lean over and lay his lips on his skin.

“Gladio-- he just came back. Where did he go, anyway?”

“On a brief reconnaissance. Something caught my ear.”

Ignis can hear Gladiolus as he strides up to the table, visible cheer in his step as he comes to a standstill at Ignis's side. Having the advisor snap at him before they left the swampland seemed to put him in a better mood, if only because Ignis made him stop bickering like a scolded child. 

A smile on the Shield's face is still better than a frown, and Noctis isn't being manhandled, which is usually a good sign.

“Hey captain, mission complete.”

“Splendid.”

“So what 'caught your ear'?” Noctis leans back into his seat, resting his elbow on the table and his palm on his chin inquisitively.

“Rumours of longer nights.”

“They've been growing longer, day by day.” Gladio confirms soon after.

“There was talk of it back in Lucis, but the recent days have showed a unseasonably sharp change.”

Noctis makes a sound of contemplation while he ponders the probable cause. Lunafreya was holding back the scourge to the best of her ability, and her death was sure to show an impact, but he'd be lying if he said he expected a change so suddenly. The clock has been ticking this entire time, but it seems like they've never been closer to midnight than before now.

“Should this trend continue, before long...” Ignis responds gravely.

“There won't be daylight.” Noct finishes his thought for him. Ignis pulls his mouth into a straight line.

“Well, it's not out of the question.” Gladiolus doesn't sound happy, either. “The empire's already slain half the Six, no wonder the whole world's in disarray.”

It still doesn't feel so clear-cut. Lunafreya was bestowing a hope upon the people that set the starscourge at bay momentarily, but the plague was always meant to come, Six or no Six. Requesting the power of Titan, Ramuh and the Hydraean couldn't have caused such a dramatic decline in the world's state of being, could it? It wasn't like they were helping, exactly.

“I... guess.” Noctis replies, still uncertain.

“And longer nights means more daemons.” Ignis observes aloud.

“Seen that with our own eyes.” Gladio sets his hands on his waist.

“I happened to overhear a fellow passenger discussing this very same phenomenon.”

“So he sent yours truly to seek 'em out.”

“Nice police work.” Noctis muses.

“Well, don't wanna keep 'em waiting.” Gladio turns, already prepared to leave.

“No, we don't. Back in a moment.”

Ignis slides out of his seat fluidly, cane in hand as he follows close behind the Shield. Noctis still has his hand placed on his chin as he watches the advisor retreat, responding with a quiet “sure” despite the long strides they took in the opposite direction. Noctis isn't sure they heard him, but he's happy they can't tell the disappointment in his voice as he watches them depart.

Being left alone with his thoughts these days seems to be getting harder and harder. Noctis turns to glean out the window at the picturesque scenery that rolls by, the clear division between sand and snow that must've been caused by the Glacian's death. The goddess must've encased the place in an icy wasteland as a final farewell to the empire-- Noctis thinks he might actually like her.

When Noctis pays close attention to the snow atop the mountains, it almost looks as though it were a volcano billowing clouds into the sky like smoke. What he doesn't anticipate seeing is the cloud formations starting to pour over the sky even faster, a storm rolling in so quick Noctis can see it over the mountaintops. It's a strange change to the atmosphere, a nervous settling in his stomach like an omen.

“Whoa! There you are, buddy!”

Prompto nearly ran past him, skating to a stop just beyond Noct's seat. The gunman scrambles to re-right himself after almost falling to the floor in his hastiness, embarrassed hands setting out on the table as he leans forward to get a closer look. Noctis doesn't seem to notice, but Prompto's far too enthralled with the scenery to feel embarrassed for long.

“Did you see this? It's unreal!”

“Yeah.” Noctis almost sounds amazed. “Never seen anything like it.”

The clouds outside seem to hold back behind some kind of invisible wall, and Noctis finds it resembles the wall of water the Hydraean summoned back in Altissia. It's so thick and heavy that Noctis can't see beyond the edge of the whiteout, a flurry overcoming the mountains like a blanket laid out by the gods themselves. As it starts to creep ever closer toward the train, Noctis finds there are clouds that look almost dark enough to resemble a charcoal fire.

“It doesn't make any sense.”

When the world goes still around him, Noctis can feel it.

Dust in the air around his vision seems to stop floating, suspended loosely in the atmosphere in front of Noct's vision. The nervous chatter beginning to form between passengers ceases mid-sentence, and when Noctis slides out of his chair, he glances around the room after to find people still frozen still like a small blip in time.

Curiosity and anxiety start to pique at his psyche both. Noctis turns around, sparing a cautious glance behind him, his words just above a murmur as he takes in his surroundings.

“What is going on...”

“It's a real mystery.”

Ardyn's voice belies the same curiosity Noctis has. The prince's eyes widen in surprise before he turns himself around hastily, almost expecting a mirage instead of the imperial chancellor himself.

The chancellor stands there with a slight curve of his mouth, a smile that could almost be polite. It's as if he no longer remembers the events at the altar, or doesn't seem to care, standing with a casual lean and his arms rested at his sides. The very audacity has Noctis burning with anger.

“I'm not liking that snow cloud. Kind of gives me the chills. Like, who comes up with the stuff? I couldn't dream something like this if I tried. It's a wondrous world.”

Noctis was already advancing by the time Prompto finished musing aloud, but the blond barely managed to step out of the way as Noctis aimed a right hook toward his face. It just about clipped him, so close Prompto could feel the air shift around his clenched hand as he lunged forward. It was a very narrow window to dodge, but it leaves Noctis stumbling for balance while Prompto takes a cautionary step away.

“The hell are you doing?”

“Whoa, what's going on!?”

When the prince rights himself, Ardyn is backing away from him, hands poised with defence. Noctis can feel himself simmering with barely contained rage, summoning his weapon into his hand like a reflex.

“Easy there, buddy. Ugh, didn't see that coming. You alright?”

Noctis brings the blade down in one heavy swing toward the floor. It's a sloppy move miscalculated due to his emotions clouding his perception, but it gave Prompto enough time to wrench himself in the opposite direction, confused and hurt by his best friend's assaults.

“Shut up!”

“Be careful there! Wait, is this for real?”

Noct watches as Ardyn turns on his heel, sprinting quickly through the train doors, but the prince has no intention of letting him get away this time. Prompto runs so fast his lungs can feel a burning sensation, his feet hard on the floor as he tries to escape. It didn't look like Noctis was confused, which was the scariest part about it.

Noctis chased him into another section of the train, just in time to see his cape disappear behind a shutting door. It's the same railroad car Noctis slept in with his friends, which he doesn't feel is simply a coincidence. Adrenaline courses through his veins like a drug, giving him no time to think, acting only on instinct as he hunts Ardyn down.

“Show yourself!”

“Uh... Noct?”

Ardyn's voice questions from somewhere beside him, but when Noctis turns his blade toward the sound, the apparition of the chancellor disappears before his sword can make contact. It's like slipping through a ghost, leaving him stumbling for balance with the ferocity of his swing.

“Son of a bitch...”

He's not sure if he's going crazy, or the chancellor is playing with him. Something tells him he's treading a very fine line between both possibilities, but there's no time to think about the worrying implications behind hallucinating-- or the magic that could conjure the image, dark and powerful.

Prompto is just managing to catch his breath when he can hear Noctis enter the train. A quick swivel proves that his sword is still brandished, prepared to run him through. The gunman didn't catch a very good look at Noct's face before he started backing away in the opposite direction, but he held an anger in his expression that Prompto was fortunate enough not to experience a lot in his life.

“C'mon, Noct, you're scaring me! Seriously man, cut it out! It's not safe! Plus, you're causing a scene!”

“You think this is funny!?”

Ardyn-- Prompto-- yet again managed to narrowly evade a fatal blow, falling on his ass to the floor as he pushed himself out of weapon's reach. If the edge had caught him-- no, Prompto doesn't want to think about that. Instead, the blond pushes himself from the floor desperately, practically throwing himself in the opposite direction through the doors separating the other railroad car.

“Dude, are you seriously trying to kill me!?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

Prompto was still heaving deep breaths as Noctis opened the train doors, holding his hand out in front of himself as though he could simply will the prince to stop. The feeling of hands on his shoulders preludes being tossed toward the wall hard, breathing a short whimper as pain laced up his spinal chord.

“I've got you now.” Noctis growls low, and Prompto can't help but shudder.

Noctis slammed his arm hard into Ardyn's collarbone, pressing him tight against the cold metal wall, pinning him there with his weight. Prompto can feel his windpipe starting to strain, his lungs struggling to inhale completely.

“What are you talking about? Do you really mean that, Noct?”

“Of course I do!” Noctis seeps of desperation. “You can't talk your way out of this!”

“You won't even let me!”

Prompto struggles uselessly against his arm. He can't remember when Noctis got this strong, but he feels next to useless under the weight of his arm crushing him against the wall. The metal feels unyielding under his back, and a bolt starts to dig into his skin uncomfortably. He's close to crying, but he bites back the urge, pleading in his tone as he tries to convince him to loosen his grip.

“Noct, please. Can't we talk for a sec?”

“Never.”

The feeling of the train shifting hard throws Noctis off his balance, his arm finally loosening from Prompto's collarbone. The gunman falls to his knees before he can catch himself, gasping desperately for air, but the impact of something hitting the train made Noct hit his head a little too hard on the floor below.

When the prince comes to, it's Prompto's hand gently pushing at his shoulder, trying to stir him from unconsciousness. The blond's riddled with concern from the tone he takes to the expression he uses, but the softness of his voice pulls Noct back into the train from the inky blackness.

“Noct, are you okay?”

“No.” Noctis launches up straight, making Prompto startle. “Where's Ardyn?”

“Wait-- he's here? If he is, that would explain all this weird stuff happening. I bet he's behind the train stopping. Ignis and Gladio went up to expect the engine room. I say the two of us go check out the rear.”

“Yeah.”

Prompto's arm slides easily around his waist as he helps the prince from the floor, but Noctis doesn't have time to think about his own injuries when Ardyn's still on the train. Noct leans against the blond for stability as he pulls him from the floor, but Prompto's quickly taking a step out of arm's reach intentionally.

“I'll go on ahead.”

Noctis doesn't have time to reply before Prompto is disappearing, breaking out into a stride toward the end of the train.

*

Noct isn't sure what he saw.

One moment, Ardyn had a gun poised to Prompto's head, and the next, Prom was staggering backward off the train with a look of horror that made Noctis's stomach turn.

It's a magic Noctis hasn't ever seen before, not in this lifetime. Like a stitch in time, Ardyn switched their images. The more answers he finds, questions arise to take their place, setting him back three paces when he took only one.

“How long were you in the dark?” Ardyn retorts with condescension.

The blow to Noct's neck isn't fatal, but he crumples to his knees like dead weight. While he was distracted with the shock and horror of pushing his friend off the train, Ardyn took the opportunity to make a quick escape. The chancellor sighs just before Noctis blacks out, but his words are what make Noct feel like puking.

“C'mon, princess, we haven't got all day.”

The last thing Prompto saw before his back hit the ground was Noctis. Noctis, with his hands wrapped around the handle of his engine blade. Noctis, burning with fury as he broke into a sprint across the top of the train. Noctis, watching him tumble backward from the train, missing Prompto's throat by few precious centimetres.

Hitting the sand at that velocity should've killed him, but he managed to roll at the last minute. The speed of the train sent him careening over the sand hard, rocks digging uncomfortably into his skin, but he manages to come to a stop on his back with a relieved laugh. There's nothing funny about it-- being pushed from the train, separated from his friends, lost in the unknown-- but the fact that he's alive fills him with a relieved joy.

Not for long. Prompto can see the clouds that were spilling over the mountainside start to drift into his vision as he stares at the sky, catching his breath after his hard landing. It brings a wind that makes Prompto shudder, and he can see the snowstorm brewing in the distance. 

“Not good...”

The blond realizes he's murmuring to himself, but it makes him feel oddly comforted. It breaks the unsettling silence as he watches the fright train disappear into a tunnel a few hundred feet away, filled with anxiety when he realizes he's now alone in the wilderness.

Prompto can't see Noctis before the train disappears, leaving him by himself. It's just his thoughts and his sadness to keep him company this time, remembering the way Noct's arm felt pressing him into the wall. It still doesn't feel real, but he can see the bruise forming on his skin to prove it.

He has no choice but to keep going. For himself, if not for his friends.

*

When Prompto wakes up next, the first thing he notices is the cold metal floor under his face.

The last thing he can remember is collapsing in the blizzard. Snow pelted him mercilessly, freezing him so thoroughly it made his muscles lethargic even wearing his tundra gear. It was up to his thighs, dragging him down, making him so tired he had no choice but to lie down and sleep.

He was aware he was freezing to death. He didn't want to live anymore.

The building he's in is sterile looking, but a layer of dust covers most of the machinery. The room is a cylinder enclosing him in on all sides, no windows to peer from, allowed the tiny fortune of light through bulbs installed inside the ceiling. His body feels well rested, and his face no longer carries traces of frost, the only way he can tell how much time has passed.

Prompto pulls himself from the floor with a tired groan. Curiously, his wrist feels bare, and when he looks down he finds his cloth is no longer concealing his tattoo. Someone must've removed it while he was sleeping.

Checking his phone, he feels unsettled to find there's no signal. The walls must be reinforced, or there must be no cellphone towers nearby, and knowing that isn't very reassuring.

There's a newspaper clipping on the table, placed so openly Prompto has no choice but to wonder if it was strategic. It's dated M.E. 723-XI-26th, yellowed with age and smelling faintly of almonds.

Construction finished today on the First Magitek Production Facility. Rising Military star and leading authority on magitek Verstael Besithia has been selected to oversee the plant's operation. Reports say Besithia will relinquish his field duties in order to serve at the compound full-time.

For now, it means nothing, but Prompto tucks it away in his backpack for posterity's sake. If it's left out on a table like that, it had to be something important at one time or another. The few files that are scattered about the metal desks are gibberish, numbers and letters that seem nothing but confusing.

What does stick out, though, is a small recording disk left out on a panel of controls. Prompto decides that it couldn't hurt to test it, as it seems to be audio only and not something that could potentially damage his phone. The place seems advanced-- far more advanced than anything Prompto's ever worked on, to be sure-- but it wouldn't make sense if they left a virus out in the open for just anyone to use.

Sure enough, the sound of a man's voice chimes in over the speaker. They couldn't have been much older than Prompto is now, which disturbs him on a few different levels.

_Research log: Year 22, Day 189._

_I received a proposal regarding a way to improve the infantry's performance by leaps and bounds: outfit the troopers with magitek cores. Preliminary tests suggest sublimating daemons for fuel will result in an unstable infantry unfit for the field. If the calculations he provided are correct, though, this could solve all our problems. The Deathless Project marks the advent of a new age. No longer will our soldiers fall on the field of battle. The empire shall rise, and soon, all the world will bask in our glory!_

It's nefarious, alright, but Prompto has a hard time believing it. Sublimating daemons and a project testing the bounds of immortality? It sounds like something only a cartoon villain could come up with.

Nonetheless, in his bag it goes.

Nothing else in the room seems to peek out to him, beyond a panel protruding from the floor next to the sealed door that barred him exit. There's no strategic escape from this place-- it'll have to be out from where he came in, and the only way though is whatever that metal thing is.

Cautiously, Prompto placed his hand on the glowing machine. A thin white band of light travelled under his hand, from his fingertips to the end of his palm, making the blond draw his fingertips away. Whatever he did, the machine seemed to hum to life, a woman's voice resounding mechanically through an intercom Prompto didn't notice before.

“Scanning production code... unit 05953234 confirmed.”

The doors open almost soundlessly, leading out into a hallway so brightly lit it strains Prompto's eyes. Lights adorn the ceiling just as they do the walls, long rectangular strips glowing vibrant with the energy that courses through the facility.

“She still remembers you, after all these years.” Ardyn's voice is smooth from somewhere behind him, causing Prompto to wheel around almost too hastily, obviously shocked by his appearance.

“You!”

Instinctively, Prompto tries to summon his gun into his hands for protection. Ardyn's amused by the look of confusion he makes when it doesn't appear, hands clasped behind his back as he draws near.

“What gives?”

“We can't have you spilling blood here.” 

Ardyn retrieves the gun from behind his back in a quick flash of red light, waving it back and forth in front of Prompto's eyes like a toy. Prompto doesn't dare reach out and grab it, lips pulling into a tight frown.

“Although to most this compound is known only as the First Magitek Infantry Facility, birthplace of the myriad magitek troopers and daemons the empire holds dear, to you, this place should hold some sentimental value. After all, it is your home sweet home.”

“Shut up.”

Ardyn holds the gun more intentionally in one movement of his wrist. Prompto stares into the barrel as the chancellor holds it level with his eyes, one click away from a bullet entering his skull. Ardyn places his finger on the trigger experimentally, looking him over as if awaiting a certain reaction, but he smiles when Prompto doesn't let his fear reach his face.

“I'm not the one who almost killed you.”

“You're wro--”

Prompto's cut short when the gun is suddenly thrust toward his chest. The chancellor is knowingly giving him his weapon, and yet he's still unsure if this man is helping him or not. Ignis's words float through his head. His kindness is not altruistic.

“You really ought to take a rest.” Ardyn suggests. “Perhaps the estimable Chief Besithia will help heal that broken heart of yours.”

“... Who the hell is that?” Prompto clasps his hands around his weapon, and Ardyn walks away, a flippant wave of his hand as he brushes the inquiry off.

“Oh, how quickly they forget.” Ardyn leans his head back, lamenting his forgetfulness. “But fear not: I've no doubt a reunion would refresh your memory.”

Like he was never there to begin with, Ardyn disappears, leaving him on his own.

*

Noctis wakes to the feeling of cool air pushing at his face. The first few blinks are a blur, but as his vision returns, he finds that he's lying uncomfortably atop the fright train still.

He's not sure how much time has passed, but the sun is beginning to descent behind the waves. Every part of him aches, the most prominent being his head, but as he rises from the rooftop his hand is already on his phone.

Ignis picks up immediately. There's no dial tone.

“What's wrong?”

“Ignis, you've gotta stop this thing! Prompto fell off the train, I pushed him-- I mean, Ardyn made me! I don't know where he is, but we can't leave him!”

“Stay calm, Noct. I'm as concerned for Prompto as you are. But stopping the train would endanger everyone on board. We'd be sitting ducks for the daemons.”

“What do we do!?”

“First, we drop the passengers off at Tanabrae. We'll be arriving shortly. “

“What about Prompto!?”

The sound of Ardyn's voice in his mind makes his stomach turn again. He's not sure if it's anxiety, or the wretched realization that Gladio's difference on the train that night was because it wasn't him at all. The power that the chancellor possesses makes him fear for Prompto's safety, but he hopes beyond hope Ardyn didn't find him first.

“Given the chancellor's involvement,” Ignis doesn't sound happy to be cut off. “it's probably he's no longer where we left him. In any case, he may try to contact us. Let us wait and hope for the best. Can you make your way here? Gladio's with me.”

“Are the two of you okay at least?” Noctis evens out his voice, calmer now with Ignis's instruction.

“Yes.”

“Okay, on my way.”

*

Every record he finds gets him a little closer to the truth. Prompto finds them along the way like presents left by the chancellor in his stead, wanting him to know every dirty little secret the empire hides.

_Research log: Year 722, Day 294._

_I acted on the proposal mentioned in my log of Day 189. My attempts to infuse the troopers' magitek cores with daemonic energy proved successful. Only in the most basic sense, however. While the soldiers are indeed deathless, they are far from fit for fighting. Thus, I've decided to take a different approach: rather than relying on daemons to power the magitek infantry, why not use humans instead? Frankly, I had never considered employing my fellow man in any magitek-related experiments. But countless men and women succumb to the plasmodia each day. Rather than let them die victims of an ignominious disease, why not help them ascend to nobler heights? I've lost many a comrade on the field of battle, and I've no intention of allowing any more of their deaths to go in vain._

_Research log: Year 722, Day 339. Another day, another mental breakdown._

_All my tests so far have resulted in the former soldiers suffering ego deaths. Today, however, I developed a new hypothesis: I will continue to sublimate daemonified humans to harvest the miasma, but, if a sense of self is the source of these snags, why not inject infants with the plasmodia instead? (sigh) We've little time. If we are to combat the Lucian threat, we most explore new options. I, too, will set aside my personal misgivings and do what I must for the empire._

The winding paths take him through the facility, crawling with imperial soldiers that are dealt with in a quick spray of bullets. Every corner he turns, he expects Ardyn to be there, but the chancellor doesn't return. Still, he knows better than to think he isn't being watched. As long as he's in enemy territory, he's under Ardyn's watchful gaze.

When he manages to find a small room he can recuperate in, thankfully stocked with a vending machine he can quench his thirst with, Prompto almost collapses to the floor. It's a small moment of rest when he's tired of the constant fighting, even if he can only stay for a few moments.

More information stocks the shelves like a small inventory. Ardyn must've known he'd stop here to catch his breath, and left him some material to bide his time with along the way. Prompto's not even sure if he should read or listen to any more, but curiosity pushes him forward, swallowing his fears and forcing him to turn the recorder on.

It's the same voice, only... raspier. Tired, maybe, but bleeding into something inhuman.

_Research log: Year 723, Day 70._

_I pondered how I might find the necessary number of infants, and then it dawned on me: why not make them myself? If I clone them from my own genes, I can eliminate the pesky process of breeding them. Mass production remains a pipe dream for now, but I'm confident I can create a massive infantry once the process picks up. If everything goes according to plan, the empire will boast a million-man army in no time at all._

“All this time, those things I've been fighting have been...”

Prompto can't help it: his stomach wretches too hard, and he ends up vomiting, choking on bile that spills to the floor. He wipes his mouth off on the back of his sleeve and presses on.

_Research Log: Year 724, Day 297. Mass production of the magitek infantry was a success._

_We've overwhelmed the Lucians with our numbers and surrounded Insomnia. But to rest on our laurels now would be unthinkable. On occasion, harvesting the plasmodic miasma produces some 'side effects'. The daemons born of this process have been disposed of on sight-- until now. How foolish I was to let these sublime creatures go to waste! What they lack in adaptability, they make up for in sheer power. I realize now that I ought to channel my efforts into exploring the true potential of these daemons for the sake of the empire. Perhaps this has been my true calling all along._

The next thing he finds is another aged, tearing paper. It's official looking, labelled “Prototype Numbering Instructions”, followed by a nondescript diagram of the human body. Prompto can't bear to look at it for too long, but he does notice the barcode tattoo placed above the wrist, setting him at unease.

“We've... we've all got the same barcodes.”

_Research log: Year 736, Day 123._

_It seems my laboratory is not nearly as secure as I once believed. Some thief- likely a Lucian- made off with one of my experiments. Absconding with a single infant will do nothing to enlighten them of the grandeur of my research. That said, I will see to it such an incident never arises again. I've posted magitek troopers around the facility and instructed them to keep vigilant watch. It is their home, after all._

“The kingdom kidnapped one of those infants? Does that mean I... no, it couldn't be. There's no way.”

_Research Log: Year 745, Day 325._

_Today marks a momentous triumph for our great nation. The Glacian herself graced us with her presence in Ghorovas Rift, and, through the combined efforts of the magitek infantry and my precious daemons, we killed her. The resulting casualties were great, but these sacrifices afforded us something far more valuable than a few units. With the data I collected, I intend to begin developing a new magitek weapon codenamed 'Godslayer'. Soon, all the Astrals shall bow before me and the might of my magitek. Soon, they shall know my wrath._

“He's mad. This guy has completely lost his mind.”

Still, the tattoo on his wrist is undeniable. It's getting harder and harder to accept his own denial when he wears the truth on his skin.

*

The next room is even worse.

The lights are turned off, but large test tubes filled with liquid bathes the room in a warm glow. There are people in the glass containers, arms crossed like something from a Dracula film, but they all wear Prompto's face right down to the last detail. As the gunman treads quietly through the room, he feels a sinking feeling in his soul, a present reminder of the danger he's in.

“Who... what am I?”

Prompto tries to slip quietly up the small flight of stairs, but he falls to his knees near immediately. There's a large glass wall separating him from two other people-- and as he crawls closer on his hands and knees, he can hear the chancellor addressing the man Prompto heard on the tapes. The man who must be Chief Besithia.

“My friend, do you recall the child who was stolen from this facility?”

“The ones those Lucians absconded with?”

“Precisely.”

Prompto can feel his stomach fall to the floor. It freezes him in place, just a few feet away from the man in charge of the magitek movement, who glows with a strange darkness that wisps into the air like smoke. It must be dark magic, but it's a kind Prompto's sure he's seen before in daemons.

“I thought you might like to see the fine young man he's become these twenty odd years later. So as thanks for bringing your pets to Insomnia, I've brought the boy to you. The time has come to meet your maker.”

The chancellor points toward the window, and Prompto peers his head over the set of controls to see that Ardyn is pointing out him. Verstael turns slowly to meet Prompto's gaze, but the gunman is frozen with a paralyzing fear. The man is old, almost decaying, and Prompto wonders just how long he's been kept alive.

“Any questions for daddy dearest? Father and son! Oh, how I love bringing families together.”

“No... it's not true.” 

Prompto backs away from the window, away from Verstael's penetrating stare. It's the stare of insanity, but it's undoubtedly Prompto's eyes who look back at him, the same shade of blue reflected back at him like some kind of awful parody.

“You're wrong, dammit!”

The doors to the wing open expectantly, as if already awaiting his arrival. A small room leads into the facility, but Prompto has no choice but to enter if he hopes to escape. It'll be a confrontation with Verstael, this man who claims to be his father, but Prompto can see another set of doors that seem promising on the other side.

Another voice chip, waiting for him on the other side. Prompto almost doesn't want to listen to it, but the desire to know is too great to ignore.

_Research log: Year 756, Day 98._

_Finally, my daemon-infused magitek armour is complete. I have christened my creation 'diamond weapon'. It was exhibited an extremely unstable psyche, immediately unleashing unmitigated horrors upon activation. Its destructive capabilities, however, are indeed beyond compare. Not even the 'impenetrable' insomnia could withstand its onslaught. Why, the Crown City would fall in a mere matter of minutes. The Stone of legend will soon be mine. To think, that in less than a month's time, the Crystal will be mine to play with as I please!_

“So he's the one behind the attack on Insomnia... he planned the whole thing. Everything we lost that day is because of him.”

_Research Log; Year 756, Day 190. At long last, my life's work is complete._

_Not only have I found a way to preserve the ego, I've also managed to sustain that consciousness through the sublimation process and transfer it into my magitek troopers. The prototype has proven slightly less powerful than the Diamond Weapon, but this presents no real problem. After all, one's consciousness can be transmuted again and again and again. All that remains is to surrender myself to my research and become my own final test subject. I will conclude my mortal life by offering a word of thanks. Chancellor Ardyn Izunia, your assistance has proved invaluable. You have my eternal gratitude. It is through your aid that I have completed my work and begun my ascension to an existence beyond divinity._

“Of course it was Ardyn. Everywhere we go, his name keeps coming up! Everything that's happened to us... it's all his fault.”

Prompto clutches the tape harder, but forces himself to keep moving. This should feel like some kind of vengeance enacted in the name of the king, but all Prompto feels is sick. Sick of this place, sick of the chancellor, sick of himself. Just sick.

“What's the matter?” Verstael rasps in an uneasy voice. “Have you never seen a man turn before?”

Whatever-- whoever-- did this to Chief Besithia, Prompto isn't sure if he could be considered human anymore. More than half of his body has been taken over by the transference of daemonic plasmodia, and he seems barely strong enough to hold himself up anymore. Still, he staggers toward Prompto, who holds his gun between both hands with a shaking grip.

“If those Lucians hadn't intervened, you could have turned, too.”

“Why me?”

“Because you were cloned from this genius's genes, born of my own flesh and blood. You are but one of millions created to serve our great empire in the magitek infantry.”

“Created... to serve you?”

“Yes-- and now you've finally come to Niflheim, my son.”

Verstael doesn't sound welcoming, but Prompto can't imagine the kinds of horrors he's seen in this fucked up laboratory. From experimenting on infants, to genetic cloning, to using people as fodder-- Chief Besithia is insane, and there's no doubt about it.

Prompto releases a single bullet into the ceiling, eyes shut tight like he wishes he could dream everything away. A single tear falls down his cheek as he thinks about his friends, about Noctis's attempt on his life, and still he knows his true calling. It's not here, in this facility.

“Shut up! You're wrong... I'm a Lucian!”

Prompto tries to hold the gun more steadily in his hands, fingers trembling against the cool steel.

“I'm not one of your experiments!”

“Not anymore.” Verstael reeks of displeasure. “Now, you're nothing but a failure.”

Prompto is still frozen in terror as he watches Chief Besithia advance. The plasmodia is starting to breach over the entirety of his face, succumbing to the energy the daemons possess, and Prompto gets to watch as the man transforms into something less than human.

“I ought to return you whence you came. Perhaps then you might serve some useful purpose.”

“Never!”

Prom lifts the gun to Verstael's head, but the man begins to laugh. It's a maniacal sound that makes his heartbeat quicken, adrenaline starting to pitch as the former militant reaches cold dead hands toward him.

“With your help, my ascension to divinity is all but complete. Soon, neither the kings of Lucis nor the gods themselves will be able to challenge my reign!”

The gun goes off. The sound echoes in the circular room with a loud reverb, making Prompto's ears itch on the inside. Still, his hands are poised on the gun, eyes wide with shock as he watches Vertael fall backward onto the floor in a pool of his own plasma.

There are specks of his brain matter still painting the test tubes behind him, which Prompto now notices is filled with clones being drained into the machine Verstael was working on. It must be Immortalis. Inadvertently, he hasted Verstael's transference into the machine. 

Over the intercom, Ardyn feigns a gasp.

“Look what you've done! You've gone homicidal- no, patricidal!”

“N-- No...”

“You lose your friends and murder your family. Now you've no one left!”

Ardyn continues to laugh over the intercom while Prompto collapses to his knees. Watching the blond unwind amuses him, and Prompto can hear it in the laughter that echoes like Verstael's had.

Prompto's still begging him to shut up after he's stopped. Ardyn's voice is replaced instead with a woman's, the same computerized sound that he heard when the chancellor greeted him at the door.

“Vital functions decreasing. Plasmodium activity index increasing. Daemonification complete.”

Verstael's corpse withers away into nothing. Where his body once was lies only his clothes now, ascending into the machine he designed to capture his soul upon destruction. Prompto feels defeated-- this whole time, Ardyn knew who and what he was. The truth is an awful curse, one he's burden to live and die with.

“Initiating transfer to Unit XDA-1002: Immortalis.”

Prompto's still on the floor when the facility starts to tremble. Something deep under the earth is moving, a giant machine coming to life somewhere in the facility, toppling the place into ruin. 

The ceiling starts to crumble around him, but Prompto can't bring himself to leave. Maybe he should die here, the way he was supposed to in the cold. Is there really a life without Noctis in it? It's a better way to go than just 'succumbed to hypothermia'. Noctis might never know what happened to him, but he wouldn't have to be burdened anymore.

“You always play hard to get like this?”

“Aranea...”

“Save it, blondie. On your feet.”

Prompto stares at her with confusion and surprise mingling together into one. He hadn't expected the silver haired ex-mercenary, out of all people, to meet him in a place like this-- or much more, that she smashed her way through the ceiling to find him in the middle of a frozen tundra.

“So this is that new model they're working on. I don't know what's got you so shook, but you can deal with it later. Let's move.”

When Prompto doesn't rise from the floor fast enough, Aranea heaves a deep sigh. Her feet are loud on the floor as she trudges toward him, her hand wrapping around his shirt as she pulls him from the floor in one hard tug. Sure enough, Prompto rises to his feet, still staring at her with barely contained shock.

“I'm only gonna say this once: lose your will to live, and you lose all hope of me helping your sorry ass. Got it?”

Prompto can only nod dumbly as he feels her hand unwind from his shirt. 

*

“Almost as good as what Iggy used to make.”

Prompto tried to stay optimistic about eating beans from a can, but the slimy substance goes down hard. The face he makes is a look of revolt as he puts his spoon back in with an audible plop, setting the can aside for later. He's not sure he has too much of an appetite anyway.

“... At least it's quiet for a change.”

Aranea was kind enough to show him a haven nearby he could settle in for the night, but the campfire's crackle has been the only sound he's heard for hours. The night is even colder, but it's the only shelter he can find, with Gralea being a day's journey away and the chancellor no doubt skulking around in the snowy plains.

A cold chill passing by reminds him of the bareness of his wrist. Prompto turns his hand over to look at his barcode, but all he feels is sadness. It's the reason for all of this: Noctis trying to kill him. His imposter syndrome. The tie that binds him to this place, filled with nothing but death and hate.

If he could just get rid of it...

Prompto reaches into the campfire, pulling out a stick from the flame, the tip just beginning to char and glow with brightly coloured ember.

His cry is agonized as he presses the hot branch to his skin, searing his flesh with the smell of burning meat. His skin is bubbled and raw from the intensity of the flame, but still his tattoo remains, sitting atop his burned flesh like a curse.

“... Branded for life.” Prompto suppresses the need to cry, heaving another sad laugh.

“Don't tell me you thought that would work.”

Aranea's voice near the edge of his shelter makes him jump. He stutters like he's unsure of what to say, embarrassed to have been caught at such a vulnerable time. He doesn't want Aranea knowing about his weakness, but it seems like it's unavoidable at this point. Everyone, this whole time, has seemed to know how weak he is-- from Gladio tearing him away from the chancellor in Altissia, to Ignis not believing he could take care of Noctis when he fell sick.

“Prompto, right?”

It's lucky she doesn't need a reply. Prompto sits quietly as he watches her walk around the campfire toward him, and he almost thinks she has a weapon, until he notices the elixir in her hand. It disappears with use, and Prompto watches as his raw skin changes to a more pinker hue, healing fast with the strength of her potion.

“You could at least look happy to see me.”

Aranea takes a seat on the ground hard, leaning back on a single hand.

“I ran into your buddies at Tanabrae.”

It's this that makes Prompto look up from the campfire, startled to hear word about the prince.

“You've got 'em worried sick. You gonna go see 'em, or what?”

“I... I can't.”

He's not sure if he should tell her, but there doesn't seem any reason not to. Aranea worked for the empire knowingly at one point in exchange for gil, so it wasn't like she had hangups with the Imperial army personally. Not the way Noctis did, even if she found the chancellor just as creepy.

“I can't.” Prompto states again, more confident. “I'm not like them. I was born here... in Niflheim. All this time, and I've never told them. And that's not the worst part.”

Aranea turns away from the campfire this time, listening to him speak with something sad on her face. Prompto's never seen it on her before, but she's pretty, even when she's sympathizing.

“I wasn't born into a happy family. I was made-- created in some laboratory. The entire reason I exist is to make Noct and all of them miserable. How could I possibly see them? They'd never accept the real me.”

“You spend all that time driving around with each other and you still don't know what kind of guys they really are. In case you forgot, your princely pal and I weren't always on such friendly terms. But you know what? He put all of that aside, and asked me to make sure you were safe.”

“... He did?”

“Think he'd do that for someone who makes him miserable?” Aranea smiles knowingly.

“Is everybody okay?”

“All things considered, I guess. Sounds like they've been through a lot since you left, but they're still dead set on getting to the capital.”

“... Hope they make it.” Prompto looks down at his lap.

“They'd have a better shot with you around.”

“Did they say anything else about me?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“... Right.”

It still doesn't make complete sense. Noctis would have probably mentioned something about Prompto's origins if he knew already, so his attempt on his life doesn't add up. Noctis mentioned something about following him around, didn't he? What if that was the chancellor's doing, making the prince snap like that?

“His Highness was so worried about you he could hardly speak, but don't worry-- I whipped him into shape.”

“So... he doesn't hate me after all.”

Aranea picks herself from the ground, dusting her clothes off with her hands.

“Look-- I can tell you want to get back together with them, so why not let them know?”

“You think they'd let me back? After all this? And even if they did let me back, I'd probably cause them nothing but trouble. I don't know how I could live with myself...”

Aranea heaves an exasperated sigh. It's one Prompto's heard from the Shield when he's fed up with Noctis. The dragoon leans her head back, eyes closed, reigning in her frustration with his near constant self-depreciation. If Prompto couldn't see how much they wanted him there, that was his problem.

“Because you're doing such a great job of living with yourself now.”

Prompto doesn't manage to lift his head up in time before Aranea's pushing him backwards, sprawling over the cave floor hard. Aranea was straddling him, getting in his face, limiting his movements so he stayed put while she lectured him. It makes Prompto stutter with embarrassment, but Aranea doesn't seem to notice.

“What do you want, then? You worry so much about what other people want from you that you don't even know what you want anymore! Your life isn't yours to live!”

Prompto blinks as her words settle in. She takes his face in her hands to steady his gaze.

“Forget about what everyone else thinks for a second and figure out what it is you're really after here.”

The blond is still sprawled out over the floor as Aranea stands up again, brushing herself off for a second time. Her long legs carry her to the entrance of the cave, sparing a single glance back toward him, making it clear the conversation was over.

“I'm going after that new model in the morning. You're on your own now, kid.”

*

The morning light is starting to ascend high into the sky when Prompto wakes, making the snow glitter under the suns rays. It's the sound of barking coming from elsewhere that seems uncharacteristic, given the circumstances: and Prompto knows he's supposed to follow it, somewhere deep down in his core.

A fallen Magitek assassin laid still in the snow. Normally killing magitek troops made him feel sad, but knowing their origins now makes him feel a hollowness he didn't have before. Transferring of consciousness, death of ego, plasmodium and sublimating daemons: they're all words that blend together, but he doesn't want to believe these soldiers are conscious thinkers, screaming inside for sweet release.

Prompto bows his head, prepared to take a moment of silence for the creature, but when he opens his eyes the soldier is gone. The sun appeared to be setting, casting a red hue over the forest, but he could have sworn it was only a moment gone by.

Curiously, Prompto stands from the ground, turning swiftly when he hears the soft crunching of snow under a heavy boot.

The person advancing looks like Noctis, but it isn't Noctis. The apparition wearing his face meanders closer with a dangerous expression, and Prompto feels like it's something much darker than the anger from the train. Whatever this ghost is, be it illusion or poltergeist, it summons a sword with a shattering blue light that makes Prompto break out into a nervous sweat.

Prompto raises his hand, only to find that his fingers are metal. He no longer bears resemblance to being human, and instead wears the skin of the magitek soldier. It has to be some kind of higher power, an advanced mirage, but the fear he feels is real as the apparition warpstrikes closer.

It feels like a game of cat and mouse as Noctis chases him through the trees, warpstriking closer and closer each time. Prompto can hear the sound of his warping behind him as he sprints through the trees, running so fast he feels like his lungs are fit to burst. It isn't until his side hurts and his breathing shallows that he no longer hears Noctis following him, and a quick swivel around shows that he's alone yet again, his hands back to their normal slender state.

The sound of barking stirs from the distance, and when Prompto turns to catch a glimpse of the animal, he can see Pryna bounding through the soft tufts of snow like a marshmallow. The scene is almost beautiful, the sunset lowering behind the snowy horizon casting a warm shine over his face, but he remembers almost too late that Pryna is dead. Ignis watched Pryna die of a broken heart with his own two eyes.

It's obvious he has to follow. Pryna stops at the forest's edge as if waiting for him to come nearer, barking again in a wordless command that forces Prompto to keep following.

Prompto almost catches up to her, too, before she takes a sharp turn and disappears in the foliage. The gunman can see his skidoo parked in the snow not too far away, but something else lies nearby, only a few dozen feet away.

When the blond gets a little closer, the dark specs that lie strewn in an almost perfect circle were fallen soldiers. It's almost like a cultist thing, positioned there strategically, but Prompto knows now that it isn't real. Whether it's Pryna, or Ardyn, Prompto is unsure-- but he doesn't have time to think things through before a soldier stirs from the ground, making Prompto jump and almost set off his gun into the snow.

The magitek trooper reaches toward him, and Prompto can see the pain in its eyes. Normally they look soulless, but from the way this one seems to plead, he can tell that's not entirely the case. It's almost pitiful, but when he looks up from the ground to face it again, he finds the soldier no longer there.

In its place is himself, begging for death, pleading for the end as he reaches toward him. Prompto's gun is shaky in his hands, but after gathering the determination, it steadies in his grip as he moves the barrel to his own pleading form. Prompto doesn't look away as he releases a single bullet between the apparition's eyes.

An image flashes through his head in brief intervals. Prompto realizes this must be what it's like to be communed with through the power of the gods themselves. Omnipotent and powerful, gazing through him completely, peering at his soul from the inside out.

A note from Lunafreya, scented like flowers, delivered from Pryna herself. Sylleblossoms float gently through the sky.

“All I ask is that you continue to support Noctis, and that you remain ever at his side.”

“How does she expect someone like me to support him?”

In the letter is a photograph. It's unmistakably him, only older, thinner, stronger looking. Happier. The royal retinue is at his side, showing off the Regalia, one of the first photographs Prompto took of their journey through Hammerhead.

“Am I good enough? Does he want me around?”

More pictures. Happy pictures: A chocobo outpost, big smiles, a laughter caught in time.

“Is that really what Noct and everyone else want? For me to be with them?”

A photograph taken just before they boarded the boat to Altissia. It has almost everyone standing together, a special rarity he saved for himself. Monica and Dustin, Iris and Talcott, Gladio, Ignis and Noctis. Even Cor and Cid decided to allow for a picture, a gesture that made him feel joyful.

“Wait-- but what about me? What do I want?”

The image fades in a spark. Where the magitek trooper sits is himself-- his old self, chubby and dorky, friendless and alone. It used to make him feel so ashamed, but now it just feels solemn. Prompto no longer has the desire to hide from who he used to be. The overweight friendless kid doesn't scare him so much to think about. It's who he was, but it's not who he has to be.

As Prompto stretches his hand out to console the apparition taking form of his childhood, he finds it disappearing under his touch, but feels himself grow more whole.

*

“You alright?” Aranea asks inquisitively behind Prompto, who exhales a deep sigh.

“Yeah... this is what I wanted.”

“Then say it like you mean it. You did good, kid.”

The moment is too tender. Prompto starts to feel uncomfortable, turning away from her as he stalks to his snowmobile.

“Couldn't have done it without you, gurl!” He jokes, but it quickly falls flat. “Seriously though. Thanks. I better catch up with Noct and the guys.”

One last time he turns to face her before boarding his ride. He tries to plaster a happy smile on, feeling genuinely uplifted for the first time in days.

“He's got a lot on his plate, and I figure he could probably use a hand taking back the Crystal and all that. And who knows! Maybe I'll take it back before he does.”

Aranea smiles politely, hands on her hips as she watches him swing his leg over the seat.

“Don't get ahead of yourself.”

“Honestly? I don't know for sure if they're going to accept me for who I really am. But I'll never know if I don't speak up, so I'm gonna tell 'em. After all, it's my life to live.”

“The boy has become a man.” She sounds genuinely impressed. “Anyway. Gralea's straight ahead.”

Prompto thanks her for her help, and in a way, it's thanking her for a lot more than helping him escape the Magitek Facility. Aranea helped push him in the direction he was meant to go in, and for that, he'll be ever thankful. 

He doesn't notice Ardyn leering at him as he leaves, or the way the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile as he rides into the sunset.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont condone anything that happens in this chapter irl but i feel like i should probably post a trigger warning on this anyway. so, yknow, the next few pages are gonna get super dubcon-y and im really mean to prompto :(

When Prompto peels his eyelids open, he feels like he's been asleep for centuries. His arms are heavy and his body feels tired, but when he tries to pull his hands closer, he feels a sharp jolt of fear course through him when it doesn't follow.

Completely awake now, his eyes follow his arm toward the metal surrounding his wrists. The steel feels cool around his skin, binding him tightly against a metal post, his feet held together while they suspend him from the floor. It's an odd mock crucifixion pose that he must've been held in for quite some time now-- but there's no sunlight to mark the passing of time, just a dimly lit light-bulb suspended from the ceiling.

A headache starts to pound through his skull with a force that makes him gasp. His hands are flushed an angry red colour from the lack of circulation, numb and unresponsive when he tries to move his fingers. In the hopes that he can get some feeling back in his hands, he tries to move his wrists in circles, hissing quietly from the pins and needles feeling that follows.

“Good morning!”

The chancellor's voice is as smooth as a nightmare, causing Prompto to turn his head toward the sound swiftly. It's too fast, giving him whiplash, sending pain shooting through one side of his neck. The metal pole compresses his spine uncomfortably, making him shift with visible displeasure, tugging uselessly on the metal bands surrounding his wrists in one last attempt at freedom.

Ardyn is sitting somewhat leisurely on a fold out chair just a few feet away from Prompto's restraints. Two magitek assassins stand at attention on either side of him, a hollowness in their staring eyes that bores through his soul, but they don't make him feel the same intimidation the imperial chancellor does.

The room they're in is more of a dungeon than a prison. Prompto can see the metal on the barred door behind them is rusted with time, mold and mildew thriving in every damp corner. The sound of something groaning echoes through the dimly lit hallway behind the door, and Prompto decides he doesn't want to meet the daemon making the sound.

“I can assure you, the pleasure's all mine.”

“You...”

Prompto's voice is strained with the dryness of his throat. It must've been hours since his last meal, parched and dizzy from dehydration. The last thing he can remember is a splitting pain in his temple before he fell from his bike, hitting the snow with all of his weight and feeling the world go dark around him.

He knows it's no use, but he tries to summon his gun to his hand. Instead his fingers tingle uncomfortably from the circulation returning to his digits, making his hands tremble and his stomach twist with knots. It's the same magic that kept his weapon from returning at the facility, and now there's no doubt in his mind it's Ardyn's doing.

“Looking for something?”

The chancellor has his quicksilver in his hands, but unlike the nonchalant toying Ardyn displayed earlier, he holds it now with purpose. Ardyn turns the gun expertly on his index finger, but his digit is poised dangerously close to the trigger.

“H-- Hey! Be careful with that!”

Ardyn stops playing with his weapon, but Prompto knows it's not because he asked him to. The chancellor stares him down in a way that isn't scrutinizing, but reeks of something dangerous, like he's wordlessly threatening him for opening his mouth. There's something in the gold of his irises that make his eyes look unnatural in the dimly lit dungeon, forcing Prompto's fight or flight reflex to demand his attention.

“My dear boy. I have no intention of harming you.”

The pain in Prompto's temple makes him wince, like punctuation at the end of his sentence.

“You already have.”

“Yes, well.” Ardyn makes a flippant motion with his hand. “I didn't think you'd be so acquiesced if I proposed I take you to Gralea myself. Measures must be taken to ensure my safety, after all.”

“Your safety?” Prompto almost wants to scoff. “What about my safety?”

Ardyn pauses, but flashes a smile after a second.

“Scout's honour.”

“You really expect me to believe that? After everything you've done?”

“My, with all the questions. If I wanted you dead, I'd have killed you already.”

It's the most truthful thing Prompto's ever heard him say.

He knows he shouldn't entertain the chancellor and his wickedness, but his curiosity wins over. Ardyn wouldn't knowingly feed him information about his heritage just to murder him afterwards, even if his ultimate plan was to have him kill Verstael.

“Why haven't you?” Prompto's throat feels pained with every swallow.

“I might.” Ardyn smiles again. “If I find no use for you.”

A shudder crawls over Prompto's spine, and Ardyn seems to notice the way it travels under his skin. The chancellor's stare is almost penetrating, and Prompto's almost worried about what he sees, buried far below the surface. Though he tries to turn his gaze away from Ardyn's, the sound of a water bottle opening is far too familiar to resist.

Sure enough, once Ardyn takes note of the way Prompto watches him, he takes a long and slow gulp. It looks so refreshing it'd make Prompto's mouth salivate, if he weren't so awfully thirsty. Prompto watches as he savours it with unnecessary dramatics, the corners of his mouth twitching into a frown when he realizes the chancellor is taunting him.

“Oh, how impolite of me. You are a guest, after all. Would you like some?”

No matter how difficult it is, Prompto doesn't want to give in. He's still frowning as he looks deep into Ardyn's eyes, trying to discern what he's thinking and finding nothing in his expression to help. It doesn't look like poison, and Ardyn drank it himself, but he knows he can't accept his kindness at face value. Ignis taught him that, and it was a hard lesson to learn.

“No.”

“Oh? Suit yourself.”

The chancellor extends his arm in front of himself, toward the boy held up by restraints. Prompto watches with barely concealed horror as he spills water to the floor in a trickle, pooling on the dirty floor below his feet like liquid gold. The gunman is so thirsty, he envisions licking it off his boots, only to jump as he stutters to attention in the haze of his dehydration.

“W-- Wait!”

Ardyn's wrist tips to the side, just enough to stem the flow of water from the neck, a coy smile playing at his features while he waits for Prompto to continue. Another attempt at swallowing makes the blond grimace, but after swallowing his pride, he forces himself to keep to keep groveling for the sake of appeasing his captor.

“I do.” Prompto's mouth feels even drier. “I want some.”

“That's what I wanted to hear.”

The chancellor rises from his chair, but the troopers don't follow. They continue to stare silently, as if waiting for him to make a move, and it makes Prompto wonder just how far he'd get without his weapon at his disposal. If he could get close enough to incapacitate them fast, all he'd need is to snatch his gun and go. It's that last part that could be a problem.

“I'm more than willing to appease your request, but I'm afraid we must set down some ground rules.”

Prompto's suspended a little more than a foot off the floor, and Ardyn still towers above him. The chancellor's presence is like a shadow that casts over him with condescension, and Prompto suddenly feels like he's a child, getting scolded for eating dessert before dinner. 

“I don't want to hurt you, but I will.”

Ardyn's voice is smooth as he threatens him, almost comforting. It makes another shudder course through Prompto's entire body, and Ardyn smiles again, wide and patronizing.

“If I let you down and you do something _stupid_ , well.”

Prompto tries to swallow all of his fear, staring him down unflinchingly. 

“I won't.” He hesitates when Ardyn continues staring at him. “... I promise.”

“Good.” The chancellor praises him in a way that makes Prompto feel good and sick at the same time.

A loud, piercing beep fills his ears just before Prompto hits the ground. He couldn't get his hands out in time to stop his face from hitting the floor first, smacking his jaw off the cold cement with a sharp wail. Unfortunately, the most he can do is drag himself onto his hands and knees, his feet still numb underneath him.

Ardyn tsks his tongue against his teeth with disapproval above him. Prompto can see him crouch to his level, the hand on his jaw an odd kind of cold as Ardyn turns the blond's gaze toward him. Prompto tries to lift his head and meet his eyes with as much courage as he can muster, but Ardyn smiles gently like he sees through the ruse as plain as day.

“I suppose you are a guest, after all.”

Prompto hadn't even realized the soldiers had moved until cold hands are gripping at his arms, pulling him to his feet abruptly before can wrench himself away. Ardyn stands as they pry him from the damp floor, unconcerned with the look of disdain that crosses Prompto's expression before he can help it.

“Now's not the time to be belligerent.”

It's a reminder that doubles as a threat, forcing Prompto to still in their hold while Ardyn brings the water bottle to his mouth. It's humiliating and degrading, but the chancellor doesn't seem to care, forcing Prompto to swallow as he tips water back into his mouth.

A small mercy, but it eases his sore throat and makes him feel a little less disoriented as the cold eases into his stomach. Water runs over his jaw, wetting his shirt with a small trickle, but it's almost a service in the uncomfortable warmth of the room. By the time it's gone, he's still savouring what little's left, but Ardyn draws it away and tosses it to the side so carelessly it almost catches him off guard.

Prompto's awaiting another condescending retort, but Ardyn makes a small motion with his hand that causes the soldiers on his arms to disperse. They release his arms, almost making him stumble when gravity forces all of his weight to the floor, but they don't travel far. He can still see them in the corner of his eyes as Ardyn thrusts his gun toward his chest, so forceful it almost makes him stagger back.

Then Prompto watches as the chancellor turns around, his back exposed like a target, giving him his golden opportunity. His gun readies in his hand so fluidly he does it without thinking, shoulders braced while Ardyn addresses him.

“I'm sure we'll get along swimmingly if you just--”

Prompto doesn't wait to hear the end of his sentence.

In a single movement, Prompto is ducking behind the assassin on his right. Its massive size makes for a good shield as he unloads a round of bullets into the opposite soldier, the barrel of his gun posed directly at its forehead before breaking its skull with six separate shots. It falls to the floor in a heap of sparks and destroyed metal, dead before it could so much as reach for its weapon.

The adrenaline rush doesn't come. When he snaps the neck of the soldier standing directly in front of him, he feels almost morose seeing it crumple to the floor with a sickening snap. Plasmodia leaks from its wounds, spattered grossly on the floor, but he has no time to lament the price of victory before he turns his gun on the chancellor.

Ardyn doesn't appear surprised in the least. Though his eyebrows are raised like he's assessing his skills, the corners of his mouth turn up like he almost enjoys what he sees. The gun is unwavering in Prompto's grip as he trains it on the chancellor's face, but the man looks... impressed, if not a little bored.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

“Give me one reason.”

“You might not like what happens next.”

“Not good enough.”

The gunshot echoes so loudly in the confined space of his prison, it makes his ears itch. He knows he's running on borrowed time, forcing himself to keep going, not allowing his mind the time to stop and take things in. Prompto steps over the chancellor's body as he desperately examines the barred door, hoping in vain for an easy escape.

It's no use-- there's no keycard on this one, just a lock that looks far too old fashioned to be anything from the last century. Prompto looks back at Ardyn's corpse and almost vomits when he sees the chancellor in a puddle of his own miasma. It's not blood, but something much darker, pouring from the bullet wound in his forehead like a halo.

Whatever it is, it almost consumes Ardyn's entire face. The blackness stretches under his skin from his hairline like tendrils, spreading through his body like visible corruption, not unlike the darkness that was eating Verstael soul-first. 

The words he spoke about turning and becoming like them is only a phantom now, and Prompto forces a hand over his mouth as he crouches to examine the body closer for a key.

Ardyn was smart enough not to leave the key in his pockets. Of course that was the first place Prompto would look, and he almost sighs when he can't find it on his person so simply. There's nothing hanging around his neck or his wrist, and loathe as he is to do it, he has no choice but to go under his clothes.

Prompto's reaching his hands under his shirt when the chancellor reaches out to grip his wrist hard. It makes him yelp and flinch back with shock, but Ardyn's holding him tight enough to bruise.

“What did I say about doing stupid things?” He sounds like he's reprimanding a child, and Prompto has to stifle a scream of agony when he yanks his wrist hard enough to crack.

Prompto tries to raise the gun to Ardyn's head again, but his attempt is in vain. The chancellor is several steps ahead of him, dislodging the weapon from his grip by applying even more pressure to his other hand, threatening to break his wrist like snapping a twig. It's the kind of pain that makes him stop thinking for just a second, but it's a second Ardyn uses to his advantage, tugging him hard enough to send him sprawling on the other side of the chancellor's body. 

He gasps as he's pulled off his feet, but his head hits the floor before the rest of his body does. The cement feels damp underneath his body, but it's only a fleeting thought that he's laying in blood, feeling his mind drift further and further away. Black spots fill his vision, narrowing his view into pinholes, and Prompto realizes he has a concussion when he has to force himself to stay awake.

Cold metal slides past his lips with little resistance. Prompto can taste the steel pressing against his tongue on the way in, and Ardyn slides the barrel of his gun so deep into his mouth he could gag. The chancellor stops there, just to make it hard to swallow. 

The loudest sound in the room is the safety switch clicking off.

“I expected more from you, 953. After all, you were created to serve.”

Now's not the time to go unconscious, not while there's a gun in his mouth and a head injury wracking his skull. His headache is pounding mercilessly through his skull, the only thing he can focus on, even while Ardyn starts spreading his legs open. Prompto finds his thighs opening pliantly as his body refuses to work, groaning around the gun in his mouth when he realizes just how fucked he is. 

“But then again, perhaps this was what you wanted?” Ardyn sounds accusatory. “I did warn you, after all. I'm sure you'll come to realize my warnings aren't empty.”

Every part of him is screaming “no”. He wants nothing more than to deny it, but the gun in his mouth stifles the words before he can even attempt. Part of him wants to ask if Ardyn's even human, but he's not sure if he wants the answer. 

From below, Prompto can see the bullet wound is healed over, erasing whatever proof he had. It almost makes him wonder if the bullet missed-- but no, he can remember Ardyn laying there, bathed in a pool of his own plasma.

“I took you in. I gave you mercy. I let you drink from my hand, and this is how you repay me?”

Prompto tries to plead around the length of the gun, but it sounds strange and incoherent. One of Ardyn's hands is quite literally less than inches of blowing his brains out, and the other is prying his jeans over Prompto's ass impatiently, filling the blond with a dread so powerful it threatens to make him pass out. 

His feet scramble uselessly at the floor, trying hopelessly to slide himself away from the chancellor's hips. It takes everything he can not to reach his hands for the gun instinctively, hoping not to tempt Ardyn further and still desperate to make it stop. Instead he places his hands flat on Ardyn's chest as he tries to push him away, but like everything so far, it's no use.

Ardyn's much stronger than he looks, tugging him back across the floor with very little effort. Prompto can feel the gun tip back deeper into his throat, the barrel pressing up against the back of his mouth with a force that makes him gag. 

Drool cascades from one side of his mouth when he can't swallow anymore, but the sound the chancellor makes above him is pleased, nothing at all as disgusted as Prompto feels.

“What a tease you are. Following me around so obediently. Watching me with such interest.”

Prompto doesn't want to look up at him, but he has no choice. It's a very small liberty that Ardyn no longer looked so overflowing with daemons, wearing his normal self like a skin above the horrors that lurked within. The chancellor pulls the hemline of his pants just low enough to pull his cock out, so massive it fills him with brand new fear as he pushes the head against his ass.

Again, his feet slide uselessly on the damp bloodied floor underneath him. Ardyn has a tight grip around his jeans, now held tight around his thighs, trapping him with his legs spread around the taller man's waist as he looks on with amusement.

“I advise you not to squirm, lamb.”

Ardyn presses the gun harder against his tongue. Prompto tries to swallow again, making a choked sound when the barrel prevents his throat from closing over.

“Be a shame if a bullet made a mess of that pretty face.”

It takes every ounce of willpower he can muster not to defend himself. Every part of him wants to reach for the gun, or kick him away, but the chancellor's already made it clear who's in power here. Prompto's hands are still pushing at his chest, trying to get a little distance, but Ardyn's braced steadfast on the floor and has no intention of allowing it.

Though try as he might to stop the tears from brimming to his eyes, he can feel them slide freely over his cheeks as Ardyn starts filling him up. The man's cock stretches him open unpleasantly, sending pain shooting up his spine from his tailbone, wrenching an agonized cry from Prompto's throat as he takes him without preparation. 

Prompto can feel every inch of him, heavy on his insides, pulling him open wide with little regard to his safety. Ardyn was making good on his promise to hurt him, filling him open so deeply he could do little else but scream. 

He tries to tell him it's too big, but the gun in his mouth makes his words slur together with incomprehension, sobbing endlessly as the chancellor splits him in half. Ardyn slams the rest of his length into his burning hole when he's tired of listening to the drivel, silencing Prompto's voice completely with a slight upturn to his lips. 

Prompto's mouth is wide open, but he can't manage sound. He can feel Ardyn's cock bottom out so deep in his ass, he could almost think it was in his stomach, the bulge of his length just about visible under the tautness of his lower abdomen. It makes him nauseous, knowing just how deep he is, violating the most sensitive parts of him. Gladio was big, but Ardyn is massive, shutting his thoughts off when he starts to slide out by an inch just to fuck back in.

Ardyn groans so guttural, Prompto can feel it. A shudder crawls over his entire body, and the chancellor falls forward, catching himself with his hand on the floor next to Prompto's head. The gun in his mouth threatens to tip back even deeper, forcing him to gag, but Ardyn pulls the shaft from his mouth just as he's about to puke.

“Good boy.” His voice is praising. “Doesn't it feel better when you just give in?”

His protests fall flat before they ever reach his lips. Though his mind screams denial, wanting nothing more than to reach forward and claw his eyes out, the cold steel between his lips forces him to lie still. Prompto tries to swallow around the barrel of the gun, but he sputters on his own drool while Ardyn chuckles with amusement above him.

Prompto doesn't want to like it, and he really, really doesn't. Whether he wants to or not, though, Ardyn's cock abuses his prostate every time he rolls his hips. Against his will Prompto's cock is starting to respond to the attention, getting hard no matter how much his brain begs him not to. The chancellor smiles down on him, malicious and filled with ill intention, forcing Prompto to tear his gaze away as shame swallows him whole.

“This was supposed to be a punishment, but I think a part of you wanted this, hmm?”

He wouldn't be able to respond even if he wanted to, but the chancellor's words are growing farther and farther away. Ardyn draws back, leaving him achingly empty, only to impale him on his length again without a second to think. Whatever he's hitting every time he fucks him is making his abdomen hot with want, his brain screaming at him for being so traitorous. 

Prom can feel his muscles relaxing against his will. His body wants to give up, and his mind is starting to ease into agreement, eyes glazing over as his vision goes unfocused. To protect itself, his mind is allowing him a few seconds of dissociation, but the feeling of cold metal pushing into his throat brings him back to reality with a harsh tug.

“Now, now. Can't have you forgetting where you are.”

Somewhere in his well-fucked brain, Prompto almost wants to ask him what he means, but the most he can muster is another stream of sobs when Ardyn starts thrusting. He knows his battered hole can't take much more of this, but he's trying so very hard not to let himself pass out. It pulls him in like a sleep, lulling him sweetly as he goes into shock, only to have his back arch perfectly when Ardyn angles the head of his fat cock directly into his prostate.

“You should feel lucky I'm such a merciful man, or I'd be making this much, much worse for you.”

Though he tries to imagine what it'd be like if things were worse, he can't fathom how.

Prompto can feel his hole trying to clench down on his cock as he fucks him hard and fast, but he's having a hard time when his ass is so used already. Ardyn's abusing his prostate so relentlessly he's unsure if this is supposed to be a punishment, but he's so sick to his stomach he feels like it might be torture. 

The gun in his mouth slides back, allowing him the chance to swallow some of his spit, but Ardyn pushes it back in like he's fucking his mouth with the barrel. It's much slower compared to the way his ass is getting pounded, heaving loud, embarrassing yelps every time Ardyn bottoms out completely. From somewhere far away, Prompto can hear the chancellor laughing, patronizing like he's watching something pathetic.

Prompto can feel the neediness crawling over his body from his lower abdomen. It's white hot and impossible to ignore, an electricity that pulses over his whole being as Ardyn raws him open. Prom can feel his body relax as he's forcibly dragged through an orgasm, so powerful it draws even more tears to his eyes, his feet sliding uselessly on the floor again as Ardyn continues pounding his oversensitive hole.

“Poor thing. You've been so awfully starved, haven't you?”

Ardyn doesn't stop thrusting, but Prompto's not sure what he expected. His ass is throbbing and his thighs feel strained, forcing himself to stop pushing against the floor. The cement is cold and damp against his back, scraping his shoulders uncomfortably every time Ardyn's fucking pitches his frame upward.

He can tell the chancellor's close when he stops talking. This entire time he's been goading him, listening to the sound of his own voice as he condescends him, but Prompto can see how his jaw clenches shut as he continues to fuck him out. 

Ardyn looks composed, but the gun slides out of Prompto's mouth a little too far, giving him room to plead him to stop more coherently. Ardyn groans and fucks him harder-- his pleads falling on deaf ears, the barrel of the gun pressing against the underside of Prompto's jaw instead.

Prom's thoughts are starting to feel distant as his brain tries desperately to dissociate again. The pain blends in so seamlessly with the pleasure, he's not sure if he wants to wrench himself off his cock or ask him to go slower. He's so swamped with shame and disgust, he's not sure how he'll live with himself when this is over, but his mind is trying to protect itself by asking him to like it.

Ardyn continues fucking his prostate, making him wail sharply every time, but the chancellor allows his back to arch from the floor while he uses his ass. Prompto went from beating uselessly at his chest to gripping his shirt tight, and the way he clings so desperately makes the chancellor groan again, low and silky as he fucks him into the floor.

Screaming fills the room as Ardyn drags him through a second orgasm, so soon after the first it peaks before he can stop himself. Cum streaks his shirt like paint, his own cock throbbing weakly, flushed red all over from the almost endless abuse. Prompto's hole continues to clench even after he's done, and thankfully after just a few more thrusts Ardyn is spending himself deep inside.

The feeling of warm cum filling him up even more makes Prompto gag. He'd love nothing more than to pull himself off his cock, clean himself out and cry for hours, but his body won't let him move from the floor. He's completely and totally spent, fearful and tear-stained as Ardyn pulls slowly out of his ass. Prompto can feel his asshole gaping in his wake, cum trickling out of his used hole with a grimace. Ardyn laughs, but it's the chancellor's hand gently caressing his face that makes him feel sick.

“Now, before that awfully courageous act you pulled back there, I was feeling the spirit move me to invite you back to mine for dinner. Admittedly, now I'm tempted to leave you here, starving to death on the floor not unlike a commoner dog.”

The chancellor removes his hand, and Prompto finds his face isn't so drenched with tears in his wake. Ardyn stares at his hand like he's pondering to himself, building up for some kind of reaction, but all Prompto can manage is staring. He swallows, and feels the pistol move against his neck.

“But that was quite the performance. Perhaps I can find use for you after all, as deficient as you are.”

The corners of Prompto's lips turn into a deep frown, eyebrows creasing as rage bubbles up to the surface. It's not the way he calls him deficient, or compares him to a machine rather than a person, but it's for all the times Ardyn made him feel small. Prompto might be kind of broken, but he's still in there, feeling and thinking and pissed the fuck off.

“Fuck... you.”

“There you are. I was wondering if I broke you. And so soon, too.”

Prom spits at his face, watches how his saliva cascades over Ardyn's cheek like a silent act of defiance. The chancellor's tongue gathers it as it trails over the corner of his mouth, and the last thing Prompto feels before the world starts to blur is the hard edge of the pistol's magazine against his temple.

“Perhaps you'll be more accommodating in the morning. We'll see how petulant you'll be then.”

*

Morning doesn't come.

The sky outside is dark and starless. Prompto can see the inky blackness through a wall of glass when his eyes finally flicker open, taking note of the way the dim light reflects off the window's clean surface. For a few precious moments, the only thing he can focus on is the nothing that stretches into infinity, drawing attention away from the throbbing in his head and the ache in his limbs.

He tries to draw his hands back to himself, but groans when he finds his wrists ensnared by handcuffs threaded around a wooden post. Upon further inspection, Prompto realizes the wooden post is actually the arm of a sofa, tethered belly-down on a dark purple sofa and not suspended in mock crucifixion anymore. It's still a perverse symbol of submission, one that makes him feel sick.

The air smells pungent with cedar and flowers. It's a familiar scent, though he can't quite put his finger on why, like a memory buried too far away to touch.

Nearby, a fire crackles loudly in an ornate looking fireplace. It looks just as regal as everything else in the room does, adorned with intricate etchings and designs on almost all surfaces. Above the fire is a portrait of a man he recognizes as Verstael-- only younger, face frozen permanently with displeasure, but unmistakably Prompto in his features. It's ominous in the flickering light, looking down upon him as if passing judgment.

The room is a bedroom, belonging to someone who clearly had the money for extravagance. An unnecessarily large mattress is pushed up close to the window, arranged to overlook the sprawling city below, but Prompto realizes vacantly that he can't see a single light in any of the windows. It's not promising. In fact, it makes him even more unsettled than the man who sits leisurely on a matching chair nearby.

“I thought you'd find an appreciation for the view. With your talented photography skills, and all.”

Knowing the chancellor remembers his affinity for photography is unsettling on its own, but Prompto doesn't believe that Ardyn chose this place because of the view. If he were to make a guess, he'd say this is Verstael's room, though long untouched by human hands (if ever). 

There's no dust in the coffee table that separates Prompto from the chancellor, but the books adorning a small shelf against the wall are yellowed with age, and the place looks too organized to be lived in anytime recent. These deductions he makes are small, but they keep him distracted, enough to quell the panic attack threatening to spark.

“I'd ask if you felt like being civil, but I don't think I'd trust your answer. That was quite the performance you gave back there. Almost had me fooled.”

Ardyn doesn't sound genuine. Prompto knows he can't avoid eye contact with him forever, but he meets his gaze reluctantly, and with a very slow turn of his head.

The chancellor has his legs parted, his arms draped out over either side of his cushy-looking chair. He's poised as though they're having a civil discussion rather than an interrogation, but somehow, Prompto knows it's the latter. It's almost funny how he resembles Camelia.

“Why don't you have something to eat? It's very special, you see. I got it just for you.”

Prompto's quickly diverting his gaze to the food set out on the table next to him, which he realizes with an empty pain in his stomach is Green Soup Curry. For a moment, he's almost surprised he didn't notice it before, but it must be the flowery smell overwhelming his nose.

It takes active willpower not to let himself give in, peering between the food and the metal enclosing his wrists. Everything about this screams “it's a trap”, but he still has to wonder if Ardyn would decide on poisoning him after the trouble of bringing him here. 

The thought of his hands all over Prom's unconscious body make him feel repulsed, but the limits of Ardyn's psychopathy seem to extend farther and farther, overwhelming the repulsion with an awful dread. It feels like the chancellor is trying to keep him on his toes, testing his limits, trying to see how far he'll give.

“I'm not hungry.”

Prompto's stomach betrays him, rumbling loud as he digs his nails into his palms.

“I don't appreciate lying.” Ardyn reprimands him lowly, his voice just above a murmur. “Though it is quite amusing you think you can.”

Something in the way he phrases it makes Prompto's gut twist into knots, the back of his throat burning with bile. He's trying to find a voice of reason beyond the fear, and Prom chews at the inside of his cheek as he tries to think about why it feels so wrong. 

If Ardyn knew he was lying when he promised to be good, why did he set him free? Was it because he wanted this to happen? Was this his plan, the whole time?

The food on the table looks so good it could've been made by Ignis himself. Prompto's stomach rumbles again, desperation beginning to peak. The puzzles start to piece themselves together slowly, but as he stares at the gourmet meal waiting for him just inches away, he has to wonder just how Ardyn knew he loved Green Soup Curry in the first place.

“How long have you been following me?”

“Well, aren't you awfully full of yourself.”

“A- Answer me! Who-- What are you!? How long have you been doing this!”

“All these questions.” Ardyn muses as though he's thinking aloud.

Prompto wants to recoil as he watches the chancellor stand up. Never before has he felt like crawling underneath a sofa until now, but he feels next to helpless in this scenario, desperate to crawl away before he feels his hands on him again.

Instead, the chancellor leans over him for a few moments, engulfing his body in only shadow as he unlocks his handcuffs. They open with a click, but Prompto stills until the chancellor draws away.

“Doesn't seem very fair if you're the one getting all the gratification, does it? Why don't we even the playing field a tad, if we're to entertain each other. Tit for tat, as it were.”

That paralyzed feeling lasts until Prompto can hear Ardyn shifting back into his chair, and even then he pulls himself into a sitting position with lethargy. All of his muscles feel strained, his back bruised and his ass throbbing with renewed pain until he leans toward the arm of his sofa, a painful reminder of what transpired hours before.

A punishment, he called it.

“I'll answer your questions, but I expect something of value in return for my precious secrets. Of course, it's up to you whether you decide to oblige an old man's requests.” Ardyn makes a flippant gesture with his hand. “I'm perfectly happy keeping my secrets.”

There are a million pitfalls to this plan. It must be another trap, like the many he's laid before, but his tummy aches again and his thoughts are swallowed into the hole in his stomach. Just how far would he go to avoid starving to death? What about tortured to death?

“Fine.” Prompto's voice is filled with resolve, as level as he can muster when he feels like screaming.

“Take a bite.” Ardyn smiles again, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

Again his gaze falls to the meal in front of him. The desperation of starvation isn't a pain he's familiar with, overriding his reason and limiting his ability to think rationally. After a short time, Prompto looks back up at the chancellor, ready to begin the game he wants to play with an inquiry of his own.

“Why do you want me to eat it?”

“I don't find satisfaction in watching someone starve to death. Though, perhaps it'd serve you right, for lying to me the first time.”

The more Prompto looks, the more it seems like there's more to it than that. His stomach rumbling makes him care little about the chancellor's horseshit, so with little provoking, Prompto leans forward and takes the soup in his trembling hands. It doesn't go far before he settles it in his lap, warming his tired limbs while he fumbles for the spoon.

Sure enough, Ardyn must have gotten it from somewhere special, because it rivals Iggy's talent and that's a hard feat to achieve. Every bite is like small tastes of heaven, warming him from the inside, making him feel less empty inside with every swallow. 

Still, the memories it brings of home turns it to ash on his tongue. His stomach once aching from hollowness now aches from being filled, setting him at disease as he peers at the chancellor from over his spoon.

“What are you?”

Prompto feels like it's the elephant in the room, but Ardyn doesn't seem too perturbed by the question. The gunman can see the corners of his mouth turning up over Ardyn's face with amusement, but he doesn't know what's so funny about the question. Not after watching him die, at least.

“A vessel for the God's mistakes.”

Despite his smile, the tone he takes is almost verging bitter. Prompto feels like he might've struck a nerve somehow, but he doesn't know what he did.

“Though I suppose without nuance, you would know me as 'immortal'. A curse cast upon me by the Crystal itself, in all its holy glory.”

Prompto can't help it. His eyes raise with barely hidden disbelief, but he knows in his heart that it's true. The way he speaks is almost reminiscent of a video game character regaling his tragic backstory, and yet, Prompto knows that it's all undeniable truth. He saw it with his own eyes: the bullet, and the aftermath.

He swallows hard around the spoon, setting his food back on the coffee table, no longer very hungry.

What little he did eat seems to appease the chancellor, who leans back in his seat as though he were a tyrant. It's almost cliched, but Prompto doesn't have time to comment on his flamboyancy before Ardyn's making his demands.

“Why don't you sit over here, boy.”

Prompto blinks once, twice, just to make sure he's seeing straight. Ardyn gestures him toward his lap without an ounce of jest in his tone of voice, more like a command than a request.

“Are you joking?”

“We can finish our discussion here if you'd rather.”

Prom swallows hard, again and again, trying to dislodge the sudden ball in his throat that prevents him from speaking. He's not sure he could trust himself to say anything without squeaking, but the chancellor doesn't seem phased by his lack of response. 

Ardyn watches him, patient and polite, so silent Prompto isn't sure he can hear him breathe.

There are too many questions he needs answered, and he knows Ardyn won't want anything else. The man said he wanted something valuable in return, didn't he? Peace of mind is pretty valuable. As much as Prompto wants to avoid him, this might be his only chance at getting out of here. The chancellor's good side is a side he wants to be on.

Prompto's feet feel like they're weighed down with lead as he picks himself from the sofa. The few feet between them feels more like miles as he forces himself forward, trudging closer with obvious reluctance in every part of him. Just being close to him makes him feel nauseous, but this is for Noctis.

Ardyn doesn't reach out and touch him as he settles in on his lap, which makes it just a tiny bit easier when it comes to voluntarily humiliating himself. If he can pretend it's someone else, he might be able to get through this alive, which helps when the chancellor allows him to sit with Prom's back against his chest, away from his line of sight.

Whatever hesitance in him goes unnoticed as the man's hands slip slowly around his waist. Prompto could almost compare them to snakes, coiling around him, preparing to feast after he strangles the life from his body. Ardyn hums close to his ear, thoughtful like he's deliberating his actions.

“How long have you been following m--” Prompto swallows. “Us.”

“Long enough.”

There's no point trying to pry more information from him, but another demand doesn't follow, so Ardyn must not consider it a legitimate question. Prompto doesn't want to think about the way he leans in and smells his hair, or the feeling of his breath against his throat when he leans in too close.

“Were you the one who gave me to the Lucians?”

“Hmm. You're much more clever than they make you out to be.”

A backhanded compliment, but Prompto feels nothing. This new information hits him like a freight train, but he's left immobilized on his captor's lap as more truths come to light. It fills him with anxiousness to know just how long he's been orchestrating things, long before the moment Prompto was conceived.

Why would Ardyn want to set him free? There was a purpose behind trying to ensure he befriended the crown prince, but even then, there was no guarantee they'd be close. Ardyn would've had to have a plan for that, and it was only by chance he nursed Lunafreya's dog back to health.

Unless the letter she sent was...

And the pictures of his friends were...

Looking through his photographs in the camper. The smell of flowers. Pryna in the woods.

“Tell me: Do you know how Noct's mother died?”

Ardyn's voice is so close to his ear, Prompto has to keep from jumping. He tries to force himself to still the trembling in his hands, but as he looks down at his fingers, he finds his vision suddenly turning sharply to the side. It feels almost like vertigo, but it flourishes throughout his body like a numbness, making his thoughts fuzzy and far away.

“Noctis was borne of sacrifice. From the moment he was delivered unto this world, he's brought death.” 

Ardyn tucks a strand of hair behind Prompto's ear. 

“Why is that? So ready to cast down their lives in the name of a boy who's done nothing beyond carry a name. He tried to kill you, and still you rebel against me.”

“Nnnno,” 

Prompto can hear himself slurring, but it's the only word he can muster. He can feel himself slipping from Ardyn's lap just to be tugged up again, sat more snugly against his frame, Ardyn's hands reaching around to undo the button on his jeans with little resistance.

He wants to ask what he put in the food, or tell him to stop, or crawl away somewhere safe. Whatever it was he put in the soup makes him feel loose, his mind so warped he can do little but marvel at how fucked up he is. Ardyn really didn't spare him mercy on the drugs, but Prom's genuinely surprised he didn't taste it after the first few spoonfuls.

“I could tell you secrets lost to time itself. Knowledge buried with the dead. I could make you a king, Prompto. I could do far more for you than your prince ever could, if you give in.”

What he says is horrifying, but his words get more and more distant. At first Prompto's afraid he might never stop sinking, but his high seems to stop at a level that leaves him just conscious enough to make him aware of his surroundings. It makes him feel guilty and shameful to think about it, but Ardyn truly makes giving in sound like a gift.

Of course it's just the drugs doing weird things to his brain. He barely registers the fact that he's moving until he's being sprawled out face-down on the sofa again, this time not handcuffed but held fast by his weightlessness. 

The air feels almost cold as Ardyn pries his jeans off, drawing a long whine from Prompto's lips in protest. The bastard has the audacity to laugh gently somewhere above him, his hands prying his cheeks apart and exposing his hole so easily it makes Prompto's face burn with shame.

“I punished you for being insolent before, but your compliance will be rewarded, I can assure you.”

Prompto wants to argue that this isn't a reward if he's being forced into it, bracing himself mentally for another raw fucking, but it doesn't come this time. The world around him is silent save for the fire crackling somewhere to the side of him, and every moment feels like agony as he waits what feels like an eternity for some kind of pain.

Prompto's mouth is open as Ardyn drags his tongue over his abused hole, but no sound comes out. He's vaguely aware there are tears hitting the sofa underneath him as Ardyn eats him out, but his limbs can't hold his own weight, refusing to let him move away no matter how his brain tells him otherwise.

In a way, this is worse. At least when Ardyn was being mean, it was a lot easier to hate him. He doesn't feel like he's gaping anymore, but the chancellor's tongue slides inside of him easily, and he finds his ass is too pliant for his own comfort. It feels wet and warm and gross, but his lower abdomen feels hot and his cock is getting hard against his will.

Without his almost constant commentary, Prompto can hear the wet sounds his hole makes every time the chancellor drives his tongue back inside him. Ardyn's licking his channel every time he draws back out, fucking him slowly with his mouth, clearly not in a hurry. Prom squeezes his eyes shut, trying to pretend it isn't happening, but Ardyn's pulling him apart wider and sucking at his hole hard enough to draw a gasp from Prom's open mouth.

As much as he hates to admit it, he feels a lot better. The pain from before is still there, but it's not as severe, and if he tries to hard enough he can pretend it's Gladio. The head of his cock leaks a little when Ardyn starts dragging the flat of his tongue over his opening again, patient like he's waiting for a specific reaction, and Prompto sobs miserably when his hole throbs with need.

The longer he does it, the better it feels, and Prompto finds that he's having a hard time holding out. He doesn't want to give him the satisfaction, but he loves the way his tongue fills his ass every time he fucks him on it. There's not much say he has on the matter, trying to convince himself it's the drugs letting him enjoy it, using it as a crutch for liking the way he eats him back open.

Another long whine falls from his lips before he can help it, and Prompto can feel his hips lift as Ardyn slides his arm underneath him. The blond's almost confused about what he's doing until he feels his hand on his cock, not quite stroking, but squeezing the head just enough to make him feel a spark of pleasure crawl across his body.

Ardyn's tongue doesn't quite reach his prostate, but it's like the man knows exactly where it is every time he forces it back into his ass. Prom's still feeling miserable as the chancellor pushes him closer and closer to an orgasm, and by the time he feels like he's about to cum, Ardyn isn't relenting as he fucks him through it either.

Prompto can feel it over his entire body, soaking the sofa underneath him with his cum with an almost embarrassing wail. Ardyn praises him from somewhere behind him, low and gentle, filling him with another shamefully pleased warmth that makes him want to die. His eyes are still closed, unwilling to look at his face, but the chancellor doesn't seem to mind.

His pants aren't tugged back up, and Prom can feel where his spit meets cold air. Ardyn's mouth press soft kisses over his lower back, drawing a sob from Prompto's lips before he can purse them shut again. Once again it doesn't seem like the chancellor is phased. Prom tries to say “I hate you”, but the words are incoherent, slurred and melded together into gibberish as he sinks even deeper into the sofa.

“Did you know Somnus was a whore for his shield as well? Funny how history repeats itself.”

Prompto can still feel Ardyn's lips on him as sleep comes to claim him, confused and spent and wishing he was in Noct's arms instead.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (´・ω・`) sorry this took so long

Water. Warm and soothing, enveloping him on all sides, easing the ache in his tired limbs. Prompto can feel it stinging a small cluster of cuts that dapple his back, but it's a pleasant kind of burn, sanitizing his wounds and cleaning the dirt from his exhausted body. He can feel it before he even opens his eyes, recognizing the familiarity of a porcelain bathtub gliding smoothly against his skin without having to see.

Another feeling. Hands, much colder than the water he wades in, fingertips grazing gently over scrapes left behind on his shoulders. They caress his jaw with wet fingers carefully, observantly, retreating for precious few seconds before lukewarm water cascades slowly over his face. It falls over his hair in rivulets, falling over his cheeks and eyelids slow enough to tickle. It reminds him of the tears he's spilled, but it's warmer. Nicer, even. It's how he imagines getting bathed by Ignis would feel, all tenderness and soft touches. 

Prompto's eyelids flicker before he cracks them open. The groan he murmurs is drenched in both sleepiness and pain as the throbbing in his head renews with vigour, pupils dilating as he struggles to adjust to the blinding white light overhead. The bathroom is just as extravagant and barren as the bedroom was, and the tub he sits in far too large for a single person. Verstael may not have been a man for leisure activity, but what little he did have almost bordered on unnecessary.

Every bone in his body feels strained, the hard surface of the tub pressing uncomfortably against his bruises, but his skull is cushioned by something soft. Fingers thread through soft blond tufts of hair, gentle and patient, causing Prompto to groan again when his digits graze over a particularly sensitive area. It must've been the spot from the adventure with the Naga-- it feels so long ago now, when he thinks back on it, his memories are foggy.

“We're not so different, you and I.”

It's the chancellor who cushions his head from the bathtub's hard edge, poised directly behind him, most likely on his knees as to get on Prompto's level. He's positioned by Ardyn's shoulder, face close to the crook of his neck if he were to turn, which the gunman tries to avoid doing knowing the proximity they're in.

“I'm nothing like you.”

Prompto can feel where Ardyn's chuckle reverberates through his chest, almost sultry with how low and disquieting his voice tends to get when he's amused. There's no point in trying to recoil from the chancellor's touch-- there's nowhere to go that isn't in his reach, and he'd probably be punished for making the attempt.

“All that spitfire, and after everything I've done for you.”

“Don't you mean everything you've done to me?”

Maybe it's a dangerous idea, getting mouthy with Ardyn. Nonetheless, what little courage he has left is starting to rise to the surface, growing just the tiniest bit. The revelation he had with Pryna couldn't be for nothing: whether it was orchestrated by the chancellor or not, the acceptance he found came within himself, and that was something Ardyn would never have control over.

... or so he hopes.

Ardyn's hands pull away from his body, and Prompto holds out little hope they won't come back. The man doesn't move out from behind him, fumbling with something out of sight, and for a moment he worries something terrible is about to happen. The amount of concussions he's suffered so far aren't promising; nerve damage, internal bleeding, or (heaven forbid) brain damage could be one more blow to the cranium away.

Thankfully, or not so thankfully, Prompto doesn't have much time to dwell on the many possibilities before Ardyn's threading his fingers through his hair again. It's a familiar scent, green apples like the kind of shampoo he'd buy for himself in Insomnia. If he didn't know any better, he'd think the chancellor was trying to help him relax.

Lulling him into a false sense of security wasn't going to happen.

The bath water is a disgusting colour that Prompto doesn't want to look at. At one point, it must've been crystal clear, but dirt and blood scrubbed away from his body turned it into a more mottled brown shade. He doesn't want to think too much about how much of it is his and how much of it is Ardyn's.

Slowly, he exhales from his nose, trying to remember those breathing exercises Ignis taught him once to combat his anxiety. Though he can't remember if it was nose or mouth first, the rapid beating of his heart starts to slow into a more reasonable pace after a little while. 

The shame and repulsion never seemed to dissipate, gaining intensity when his touches started to feel good. Prompto tries to tell himself that it's natural to like being touched when it's so soft and purposeful, like he's intentionally trying to make him feel good, but the situation itself is so unnatural it's hard to find any reasonable ground with his argument. Noctis would probably think he was fucked up, and maybe he'd be right. Didn't he call him weird once? Maybe Noctis thinks he's been fucked up this whole time.

But no. That wasn't what Aranea said, wasn't it? Maybe if he can just hold out on that little bit of hope, he can make it through this alive. Not whole, but alive, and he supposes it'd be better than dead.

Unless Aranea was Ardyn too.

“There's an emptiness inside you, Prompto.” Ardyn murmurs, close to his ear. “I want to fill it.”

Prompto opens his mouth as if to say something, but the only sound he can muster is a whimper, pathetic even to his own ears. The noise the chancellor makes in response is patronizing, a muttered “aw” as though he's a pet caught doing something cute.

“I'm-- I'm not empty.” Prompto tries to defend himself, voice hoarse and scratching at his throat.

“Of course you aren't.” Ardyn murmurs again, condescending like he's speaking to a child.

Though he doesn't like being insulted in that way, the most he can do now is pout, brows furrowed when he hears the chancellor's disbelief in his tone. He doesn't know why he feels like it's unnecessary to prove the man wrong, but the way he says he's empty somewhere makes him feel awful. Prompto wants to argue that there's no emptiness inside of him, just the ache where Noctis should be-- but Ardyn's curling his fingers in his hair, tugging softly like a lover without waiting for a reply.

The feeling of his hand pulling so nicely at his hair makes him whimper for a second time, just a bit lower so it doesn't sound as pathetic to his own ears. He tries to tell himself that it's because it reminds him of Ignis, when they were together at the Disc, but even his protests are starting to feel weak. It's because of the praise, the softness, the doting care-- it's fucking with his head, and that's what Ardyn wants.

“Humans are very predictable things, but you're not like that at all, are you? I suppose it's because you were never meant to be. Not entirely, at the very least.”

Teeth sink into the flesh of his tongue, and it's all he can do not to cry or snap back with a sarcastic retort. Prompto's been kicked, punched, shot at, and beaten within an inch of his life, yet still he's never felt as vulnerable as he does when the chancellor touches him sweetly.

“I thought you were going to give up in the Magitek Facility, after I plucked you from the snow, but you powered through that _overwhelming_ desire to die and came out stronger for it on the other side. Brave little soldier.”

Another sob heaves from his chest like a strangled cry, but there are no tears in his eyes. Being praised made him feel warm in places he hasn't felt since Gladio, which in turn made his stomach flip with displeasure. It's an odd medley of emotions that he can't keep track of, vacillating between themselves before he has time to process it completely.

It's not a feeling he wants to attribute to the man who pinned him to the floor, who used him at gunpoint and then drugged him for a second round, but his body is betraying his brain. Or maybe, the opposite holds true: Prompto isn't sure which possibility scares him the most. He doesn't want to like it, but something else is unfurling, like a need he didn't know he had until now.

“Watching you destroy all those imperial troops so effortlessly... all those deft head-shots, the destruction you brought in your wake... it was marvellous. Performance art to the careful observer.”

Prompto almost expects Ardyn to reach beneath the water's murky surface and stroke him elsewhere, but like a blessing from the gods themselves, the man takes his hands away from his body for a final time and retracts from the bathtub's edge. The feeling of his shoulder moving away from his head leaves him resting with discomfort against the rim, and he almost misses having the extra support to keep himself steady.

Unfortunately, he knows the chancellor hasn't gone far. Prompto can still hear his footsteps somewhere behind him for a few seconds, moving from cabinet to cabinet carefully as he searches for something. He doesn't even bother looking until there's a dry cloth patting at the droplets left behind on his bruised shoulders, flinching as he presses just a bit too hard at a discoloured mark. It draws a “tsk” of disapproval from the man behind him.

“We'll get you in some dry clothes and find you something to eat. Would you like that?”

The silence that follows belies what Ardyn's looking for. After a few seconds of careful deliberation, Prompto nods, slow and methodical like a trained response rather than an answer. He doesn't trust the chancellor not to put something in his food for a second time, but perhaps if he could watch him, he might ease into the idea of filling his empty stomach with actual sustenance and not a few bites of a drugged meal.

Ardyn doesn't touch him again until Prompto forces himself to his feet. Pulling himself into an upright position took more effort than he'd like to admit, still lethargic after his high-induced nap. While he doesn't like being naked in front of him, he also doesn't think there's much else that could humiliate him at this point, unless Ardyn decided to get creative.

He wraps the towel around Prom's shoulders from behind, diligent of the scrapes adorning his back. Ardyn's arms linger around Prompto's waist for a few moments too long when he pulls the ends closed around his chest, making the gunman almost slip and land face-first on the marble tile below.

Luckily the chancellor is there to catch him before he crumples to the floor with all his weight. If Prompto were to be honest, he might prefer shattering his nose on the hard floor below rather than have Ardyn's hands on him for any longer than he has to. The smell of his clothes is almost assaulting as Prom's head turns into his chest, his face pressed up against his torso for just a few seconds too long.

Ardyn unhooks his arms from around his hips when Prompto manages to find better footing on the floor, seemingly undisturbed by the sudden intimacy. Prom is red in the face with embarrassment, clutching the towel a little tighter around himself like a makeshift cocoon. Thankfully, Ardyn retreats from the bathroom not long after, entering Verstael's bedroom and deciding not to wait for Prompto to follow.

Prompto's legs feel weighed down with lead as he forces himself across the marble tile. A shiver creeps across his skin when cold air coalesces against his wet body, drawing the towel even tighter around himself as he pads out the door.

When he exits the bathroom and comes to a stand in the doorway, Ardyn has already gone, leaving him with precious few seconds to himself. 

There's a stack of clothes folded neatly on the bed already, but he doesn't recognize them. He picks apart the stack individually, like he might find something unpleasant between the folds, quietly sizing up his fashion sense. The smell that lingers is undeniably Ardyn, but they almost look casual compared to his normally flamboyant attire. Prompto can't picture him wearing these. Black on black, like a metaphor or a statement.

The t-shirt is too big to fit properly, ending almost at his knees and slipping from his shoulders. At first he tries the pants he left behind, but they're too wide around the waistline and he doesn't hope to keep them in place without his hands. Prompto would rather his lower half covered, but the shirt will have to do until he gets his clothes back-- and he prays to Six he gets his clothes back.

Prompto almost wants to collapse into the mattress when he takes a seat on the soft edge, sitting with all of his weight as his limbs ache in protest. He'd rather not think about why he feels so sore, perturbed already by the thought of Ardyn touching him while he slept. It must've been a heavy sleep to move him to the bath without having him wake up, giving him plenty of time to do god knows what.

The sky outside is still an inky blackness, stars dotted in the sky like thousands of eyes staring back at him. If he peers at the ground below, he finds he can't see the bottom all that well, straining to see any signs of life on the road. Just some daemons, large enough to see from atop the tower. For an awful second, he visualizes throwing himself at the glass and splattering on the ground below, quickly shaking himself out of it when his hands start to grow clammy.

Prompto turns towards the door.

He knows better than to run. Even if he did, Ardyn would find him and drag him back, possibly punishing him even worse for daring to escape when there's nowhere to go. Five seconds turn to ten, and then a minute has passed unblinkingly. Prompto still jumps visibly when the doorknob starts to turn, despite staring at it like he's willing him to stay on the other side.

“Isn't that cute.”

Every part of him regrets not trying to run while he had the chance. 

Prompto's face is burning at the compliment, muttering “m' not cute” under his breath as a quiet act of defiance. Either Ardyn doesn't notice or he doesn't care, because he hums to himself and circles the dark purple sofa before finding a seat squarely in the middle.

The smell of takeout wafts from the Styrofoam container in Ardyn's hands, beckoning him closer. His empty stomach churns when he realizes he can't watch him handle his food after all, eyeing it warily without trying to move. It must be a test of some kind.

“Aw, don't look at me like that. There's nothing in it this time, if that's what you're worried about.”

The smile he wears is like a cat's grin, curled up at the corners of his mouth like he might start purring. Prompto finds it makes him feel uneasy.

“Or perhaps... you'd like more? I'd hardly judge you if that were the case.”

Prompto shakes his head no, the bed underneath him creaking as he forces himself to stand. He tries to take as much time as possible to manoeuvre his way a little closer, Ardyn watching like a vulture circling dying prey. Prompto could swear he saw something dark flicker behind the gold of his irises for just a single second, and it's getting harder and harder to pretend it's just a trick of the light.

There's nowhere to sit that isn't in his reach. Like the man knows exactly what he's thinking, Ardyn tilts his head to the side like a curious dog, arms sprawling across the back of his couch while his knees part expectantly. It's like a command to sit without saying it aloud, but Prompto pretends to misinterpret what he means, standing rigid just a foot away.

“Darling, I've seen your most intimate parts already. There's nothing to be shy about.”

Prompto wants to argue that he's not shy, he's disgusted, but the words die as his eyes fall on the chancellor's gaze once again. Ardyn's smile never faltered, tongue laving over his bottom lip briefly, watching like a hawk as Prompto's gaze slid to his mouth. The blond can feel his face grow even redder with renewed embarrassment.

_He had that tongue inside me._

Prompto takes a tentative step forward, but he freezes like he can't bring himself to finally close the distance. After a few seconds of silent staring, the chancellor exhales a loud sigh, reaching out swiftly to grip his wrist and tug him forcefully into his lap.

He struggles to sit properly, legs positioned awkwardly over Ardyn's lap as he goes sprawling. While he tries to find a more comfortable position, the palms of his hands lie flat over the chancellor's hard torso, gaining a few inches of distance between their touch. It doesn't seem like it disturbs Ardyn, who sprawls his arms out leisurely behind the sofa for a second time, pleased Prompto is touching him at all.

The gunman used to think he was touch-starved, desperate to be hugged and kissed and loved, but Ardyn absorbs every little bit of contact like he'll never quite get enough. It must've been quite some time since he's experienced the touch of another human being, almost stirring a pang of sympathy from Prompto's chest. Almost.

Ardyn must've been kneed in the crotch at least twice while he was trying to find a better position, straddling his lap with his knees on either side of Ardyn's thighs, but not an ounce of pain flashes across his expression. Prompto figures he must've missed if the chancellor's not doubling over in pain, but he tries to search for the signs, coming up empty as his eyes rove over his expression. The most he gets is a wink that forces him to turn his head away, blushing from humility while he settles his ass back.

The chancellor breathes another laugh, low and silky. A single finger reaches out to tuck another strand of hair behind his ear, but Prompto yanks his head out of the way like his touch burns. It's fast enough to give him whiplash, his bottom lip jutting out with a pout when Ardyn laughs again, entertained rather than furious.

“Eat.”

He didn't notice the second hand reaching for the takeout box until a sandwich is being pressed up against his mouth. Prompto can taste it on his lips before he takes a bite, seeping of familiarity that he can't quite place a finger on. Maybe it's something from Hammerhead, or Altissia, but the image of Ardyn standing in line to order a meal is another impossible picture. It might even be funny, if he had any desire to laugh.

Prompto takes the meal in his hands rather than allowing Ardyn to feed it to him. The blond's suffered enough humiliation at his hands already, and the day has barely begun, if it could be considered that anymore. Whatever time it is, Prompto is tired and achy and starving, having to force himself to eat without thinking too much about what's inside it.

“Awfully quiet today, aren't you.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” Prompto bites back through a mouthful of food.

“On the contrary love, I believe there's a plethora of conversations just aching for our attention.”

Ardyn places a hand over Prompto's waist, cold enough to feel it through the thin cotton layer of his t-shirt. He almost chokes when Ardyn grazes his thumb tenderly over a small white scar on his hipbone, seemingly knowing exactly where it was underneath his clothes.

“Do you still believe they're coming for you?”

“Of course they are.”

“Hm.” Ardyn hums, like he knows something Prompto doesn't. “I admire your tenacity.”

“It's not tenacity, it's the truth.”

“You're welcome to believe whatever it is you wish, my dear.”

“What's with the pet names?”

“Do you not like it?”

“No.” Prompto replies, a little too hastily.

The hand on his waist ceases his tender ministrations, pausing heavily over his waist. The silence that passes is heavy, making Prompto shift uneasily on his lap for a second time.

“Now, what did I tell you about lying?”

A shudder crawls slowly over his entire body, reaching from his toes and spreading across his insides like an unpleasant flame. If he didn't know any better, he'd compare it to the chill before heaving up the contents of his stomach. He swallows hard around the food still lodged in his throat, hands starting to feel clammy again.

“Do I need to punish you, Prompto?”

“N-- No.”

“No, what?”

“No, please.” Prompto swallows hard again, this time on nothing.

The chancellor continues to stare at him for a few more moments, allowing the time to pass by uninterrupted. Prompto almost wishes he could see inside his head, just to know what he's thinking, but he also knows he wouldn't like what he saw.

“My patience with you has already been tested. I wouldn't advise continuing to do so.”

It's not an explicit threat, but Prompto feels the violence seeping into his words. Even his kindness is weaponized, using it as a leverage to get what he wants. Prom can't bear to keep looking at his face, but when he tries to turn away, Ardyn is gripping his jaw in a steady hand and dragging his gaze back.

The tips of his fingers dig unpleasantly into his skin, hard enough that Prompto can feel the bruises starting to form. Though he tries to squirm out of his hold, Ardyn has him in a steadfast grip, his voice almost contemplative as he muses aloud.

“I suppose a little taste of the dark would make you more... appeasing.”

“Wh--”

Before he utters a word, the world around him falls away, shattering into a million tiny fragments and pulling him into the void.

Prompto feels like he's falling. That rush of vertigo makes him break out into a thin sweat, gut clenching tight with anxiety as he feels himself pulled deeper and deeper into the emptiness. Pitch black encloses him on all sides, pulsating with life like a visible heartbeat, but as his arms stretch into the nether his fingers slide through nothing but air.

Prompto screams, loud and wailing, losing his voice with the strain.

It's a hollowness, sinking in beneath his skin and poisoning his soul. Ardyn called it “the dark”, but it's more of an emptiness, one Prompto can feel deep inside himself, carved out of being with a butcher's knife and leaving a void in his heart. It's so much sorrow and hatred confined into one place, a place Prompto wishes he'd never seen.

He wasn't ready.

It must've only been seconds, but Prompto feels like he's been there for eons. As the world starts to piece itself around him, he finds that he's clutching the chancellor like a lifeline, arms wrapped around his shoulders as his scream filters into chest-wracking sobs. Ardyn is holding him, soothing him with quiet nothings, assuring him that he's safe now with a hand rubbing softly at his back.

For a few minutes, it doesn't matter who he is. That awful place is seared into his memory, hands clutching desperately at Ardyn's shirt as he repeats “I'll be good” like a mantra. Tears drench his face, but the chancellor doesn't seem to mind the wetness soaking through his clothes. He'll do anything to stay away from that world, the illusion Ardyn cast upon him.

It had only been a warning, but it felt like pure, unadulterated torture.

“Oh, precious thing.”

Prompto almost feels like Ardyn's disappointed, but for what, he doesn't understand.

“You're soft, Prompto. Warm. That sunlight you radiate is almost intoxicating, having spent so long without.”

Prompto's still heaving sobs from his chest, listening to the chancellor's mumble softly directly into his ear. Ardyn's hand is still rubbing at his back like he's soothing a child after a nightmare, and Prompto's grip never wavers.

“How I'd like to steal that light for myself, to leave nothing for your precious prince to savour. But, alas, if you didn't have that, I'd have no use for you anymore.”

So that's what he was after. Prompto's 'sunlight', whatever that means.

“You'd best do well to keep it. Would be a shame to have to dispose of you.”

*

Tanabrae didn't offer up much in terms of closure, but Noctis isn't sure what he expected. The fields of sylleblossoms were beautiful illuminated under the moon's bright glow, and the wind was warm and pleasant on his skin, but he still can't bring himself to see the little upsides. Prompto was still out there, somewhere. Maybe Ardyn had gotten to him first.

It's another big fear that's formed itself over the last few hours, the memory of Ardyn's words as he stood over him on the train replaying in his head on a constant loop. The words he spoke in Gladio's voice a few nights before had seared into his thoughts, bringing up more questions than answers.

Gladiolus had responded to Prompto's disappearance by distancing himself, training alone in the darkness of the field. Noctis can see him practising his left and right hooks from a distance as he walked past, but he couldn't bring himself to disrupt him with questions of what happened the other night. What was he supposed to say? “Was it you on the train”? Noctis already knows the answer.

These secrets are ones that he'll have to hurt to keep, but it's a small sacrifice to make compared to the ones his loved ones have made already. Most of all, it'll hurt to keep it from Ignis, but something tells him that his advisor is keeping secrets from him too. That fact shouldn't hurt him as much as it does. When he thinks about it for too long, he can feel his heart start sinking, lower and lower without ever touching the ground.

It's just another reason why keeping these things to himself are necessary now, at the pinnacle of all things. Ignis has been having it hard since he lost his sight, and maybe even before that, not that Noctis had noticed amidst his brooding. Losing Prompto was sure to hurt both of them, though they knew it wasn't the same for Noctis. Noct felt for him as he did family, even if Ignis was undoubtedly his soulmate.

Now, more than ever, he needed the man who had loved him long before he loved himself. It's easier to pull himself into his bedroom if he thinks Ignis needs him too, though he's not so sure that's true.

Ignis had been lying on his back in the same train car they slept in a few nights before, eyes cast toward the bunk bed above him despite seeing nothing but darkness. Normally he'd do some light reading before bed to relax, but now he's left alone with his thoughts, so silent Noctis thinks he's asleep. Really he's been thinking about their missing blond companion, finding that if he lies still he can almost pretend he's sleeping somewhere above.

Maybe Noctis would've felt bad about disturbing his sleep if he wasn't already feeling awful. The door shuts with a click behind him, and Noct can see his advisor's head move slightly toward the sound. If he wasn't asleep already, he must've been getting close, because the dark circles under his eyes rival even Noct's.

“Noct?” He questions quietly, unsure if the sound is the prince or his shield.

“Yeah.”

Ignis can hear the quiet worry in his voice and the soft footfalls toward his side. Noctis takes a seat on his mattress, and the advisor sits up, careful not to hit his head on the metal frame above. 

Without having to see the look on his face, Ignis knows he's worried. If Noctis were to worry himself literally sick with his anxiety, they'd have to take a day or two to recuperate, and it's not something they can handle right now. Prompto needs to be found soon, the sooner the better.

“Prompto is--”

“Don't tell me not to worry!”

Noctis snaps before he can control the volume of his voice. If Ignis knew what Ardyn did to him, he's sure the advisor would be more concerned for his well-being too, but he can't part with that secret just because his emotions are running high. Ignis is supposed to be his stability. If he knew, he wouldn't be that anymore. Maybe it's a selfish desire, but he feels like he's entitled to that, at the very least.

Ignis sits up straight, quite obviously taken aback by the sudden anger in Noct's voice. Noctis wants to apologize, but he can't find the words this time. It's not easy to say, not like in Lestallum. This is about being concerned for his best friend, not ripping on him in his jealousy over his advisor's attention.

Noctis folds his arms against his chest like a defensive wall, gathering his feelings and holding them on the inside. Ignis moves to take a seat beside him, the comforters pulled aside. Noct feels bad when he notices that he's already dressed for bed, shirt off and pants exchanged for some rather plain black pyjama bottoms, but all that guilt slips away when Ignis settles a warm hand on his shoulder.

“How long have you been having those nightmares?”

It's not a conversation he wants to have either, but Noctis has to commend him on his ability to sleuth out the truth. Ignis just fluidly exchanged one shitty topic for another somewhat less shitty topic, knowing he'd get an answer if he asked. The corners of Noct's lips turn up with a small smile when he notices the tactic, but he remembers Ignis won't be able to notice and his face falls again.

“Since the headaches.” He admits, though reluctantly. “But after Lestallum, things have been worse.”

“It's very likely you had the onset of trauma after Insomnia's invasion, but after everything you've experienced... we'll see what we can do about getting you therapy when this is over.”

This time, Noct's smile is a sad one. Ignis talks about the future like Noctis will be in it.

“When did you know you loved me?”

This time, it's Ignis's turn to be caught off guard. Noctis can see a brief flash of emotions across his face that he can't discern, but just as he's about to tell him to forget it, Ignis answers quietly like it's a question he himself has pondered many times before.

“I suppose... always.”

“Seriously.”

“Yes, seriously.”

“But... when did you know? For sure?”

“Do you remember when we made Duscae orange smoothies?”

“Yeah.”

“And you forgot to put the top on the blender?”

Noctis smiles, the first genuine smile he's made in the last month. It was an unusually hot summer when Ignis suggested Noct help him in the kitchen, making sweet treats for the long sweltering day ahead, and Noct had gotten so distracted he turned the blender on without a cover and painted his kitchen with milk and oranges. 

Ignis made him shower, his hair smelling of fruit for the next week. Noct was so embarrassed he thought he might be red forever, but Ignis laughed it off and made fun of him privately for it until the weather turned cold. Thinking about it now, it just seems funny. It was a time when the only burdens they had were homework and finding dates for the prom.

“Dude, you had to bring that up after all this time?” Noct chuckles softly.

“That was the moment I knew I loved you.” Ignis smiles.

“Couldn't have picked something more romantic?”

“If affairs of the heart were easy, it'd be far less magical.”

“Straight out of a novel, Specs.”

“Was that romantic enough for you?”

“How did you really feel about the marriage, Iggy?”

A few moments pass in awkward silence. Noctis can hear his advisor breathe slowly through his nose, almost expecting him to deflect. This time he doesn't want to pretend it's normal. If he can get everything out into the open, perhaps he'll feel some of the closure he's looking for, even if Ignis looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.

“Depressed. Jealous, perhaps, but mostly depressed.”

“So you didn't want to see me married off?”

“What do you want me to say?”

Maybe it isn't meant to sound as biting as it does, but it still doesn't hurt as much as feeling his hand move back does. Noctis wants to desperately close the gap again, acting on his impulses, sliding closer without thinking. Ignis doesn't move, thankfully, but Noctis can feel how tense he is.

“I want you to tell me the truth. You can't protect me forever.”

Ignis wants to laugh. What he does is sit quietly for an entire two minutes and thirty-six seconds before replying, under his breath like the silence might shatter if he doesn't handle it carefully.

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything. Everything. Start with the marriage thing.”

“Lunafreya was important to you, and thus, she was important to me. I was ready to accept the official role of chamberlain to the Fleuret-Caelum household. Provided you were still amicable to the prospect, of course--”

“So if I had asked you to marry me instead, you would've agreed?”

The silence between them feels like a blanket this time. Ignis can almost hear the crickets chirping if he listens hard enough, picturing images of Tanabrae he's seen from books long before. It must be beautiful this time of year. The sylleblossoms would be a sight to behold.

“I thought about it, y'know.” Noctis trails off, looking toward the already drawn curtains. “Eloping.”

“Noct...”

“I was scared too. Getting married this soon wasn't exactly what I pictured.”

“What did you picture?”

“A life. With you.” Noct shifts uneasily. “I don't know. Things were fine the way they were.”

“When did you know that you loved me?” It's Iggy's turn to question, facing him expectantly.

Noctis quiets for a few moments, but Ignis doesn't anticipate a ready reply. It must be hard for the king to feel vulnerable like this, after trying so hard to keep everything under control. The moodiness is allowed with Ignis, even if it used to drive him crazy. Gladio would have to wait.

“When I took your hand in mine,” he murmurs, so low he's almost inaudible. “and you smiled at me.”

Ignis can feel the tethers of his heart starting to unbind, exposing the delicate parts within. Such a long time to be enamoured and even more impressive that it went unnoticed until now, his fondness seeping through the discomfort and making his heart beat faster.

The hand on Noct's shoulder shifts even lower, moving from the blade and finding a heavy spot on the small of his back. Ignis can't tell if the prince notices until he hears him exhale, leaning into his side and finding a more comfortable spot under his arm.

“You didn't tell me how you lost your sight.”

“No.” Ignis replies. “I didn't.”

“Why not?”

“I don't want to hurt you.”

Noctis finds his thoughts slowing down to a halt, focusing on his words a little too intently. The answer is honest enough, but it doesn't please him, skirting around the topic expertly while staying on point. Ignis is trying to protect him, attempting to end the conversation before he's ready, but it feels hypocritical when it hurts just as bad not knowing.

The final puzzle fits itself neatly into the whole with a single thought that flickers through Noct's mind in an instant. So long he's been dancing around the possibility, he didn't want to think about it until it was too late. Ignis can feel him move away from his side, leaving him cold in his absence.

“It was me. You lost your eyes because of me.”

Ignis's expression goes from complacent to heartbreaking in a matter of seconds. Noctis can feel the tears flowing from his eyes before he can hold them in, the dam between them finally collapsing as Noct's defences go all the way down. They feel hot sliding down his cheeks, but the face he wears still is resolve.

“Tell me what happened.” Noctis pleads. “Please.”

Ignis reaches for Noct's hand, grateful that he doesn't try to pull away. His fingertips graze softly atop the sharp curves of his knuckles, a comforting motion he might've used if the king were sick. 

Noctis can feel his stomach turn, threatening to make him choke on his own bile as realization settles in his gut. Iggy's digits pause for a moment over Noct's ring finger, the same place where the ring of Lucii would've been.

“It was the only way to save you, Noct.”

Tears continue to flow freely over his cheeks, making soft pattering sounds as they fall to the fabric of his shirt. This time they're filled with anger as fury surges up from the depths of his chest. 

Maybe if he were in the right state of mind, he'd find it hypocritical, keeping secrets from his advisor while he kept one of his own, but this almost feels like a betrayal. Ignis lost his sight because of him. It was his fault, for not being strong enough to carry his own weight.

Ignis was going to kill himself for him. Noctis never had to think about carrying on through life without him before, impossible to picture his name no longer showing up on his phone, or taste his gourmet cooking he refined undoubtedly for him.

“You should've let me die.”

“Noctis--”

“You should've let me die!”

Noctis is aware that his voice is rising uncontrollably at this point. People outside must be starting to wonder, and he still can't bring himself to care, tears cascading from his eyes like a torrent of rain. Ignis must know that he's breaking down at this point, but if he wanted to throw a temper tantrum, he was damn well going to.

Emotions have been flooding far too high and for far too long. Ignis moves like he's prepared to give him some space, but Noctis can see the hesitation in his frame as his frustrations cause him to bubble over. He notices only vaguely that his own hands are shaking, trembling where they rest underneath Ignis's palms.

It wasn't the right time to reveal this information, but when he thinks about it, it never would've been. If Noctis had learned of this earlier, he might've been able to have his breakdown at a more peaceful locale, but there was never going to be a contained reaction. Ignis knew that, and was trying to protect them both. The idea that he could've had to live without him is like a serrated knife tearing into his heart haphazardly, all jagged lines and ruined flesh.

“How could you think about leaving me?!”

Noctis _wouldn't_ have lived without him. If Ignis had died, he's sure his heart would stop beating out of spite, prepared to follow him into hell and allow humanity its damnation. The Astral's could have had his life, but they took something else, either because it was far more precious to his advisor-- than his own life, Noctis thinks bitterly, overwhelmed with sadness-- or because they knew Noctis would've downright fucking refused to fulfill their stupid-ass prophecy without him.

The mattress feels hard underneath his back as Ignis presses him backward, hands pushing on his shoulders like a grounding force. Noctis can see a frustrated anger on Iggy's face in the darkness above him, but he looks beautiful in the moonlight streaming through the cracks in the blinds.

“Listen to me,” Ignis hisses, clearly exasperated. 

Noctis is still crying, but his tears are running to a stop, trickling steady across his face and dripping on the pillow below. Ignis will have to move to the adjacent bed tonight if he hopes to have a dry rest, but Noct certainly isn't going to complain about sharing.

“I would never, ever let that happen.”

Noct wants so badly to believe him. Ignis makes him feel protected, even when he's pinning him to the bed with his weight, even as he leans in to press a hard kiss to his mouth that makes him feel butterflies in every inch of his body. Ignis would never let anything hurt him, safe so long as he was within arm's reach.

He cradles his advisor's face in his hands, reaching up to caress his jawline with soft touches that ghost across his skin. Ignis can feel his fingertips skirting around the scarred flesh around his eyes, but he doesn't turn his face away, allowing the king to touch as he pleases. He's self-conscious of the wounds, but it's the least he can do when Noctis is breaking underneath him, shattering like the fragile thing he's come to love ceaselessly.

“You promised not to leave me.” Noctis strains, finally as Ignis draws away.

“I'm not leaving you, Noct.” Ignis re-positions his hands away from the prince's shoulders, resting instead on his elbows as he keeps himself from crushing the slim boy underneath. “I'm right here.”

Ignis hears him, but Noctis still feels like he isn't quite listening. It's a response he expects, but not the one he wants, dissatisfied with the promise he broke. This intense, burning desire to possess him is too overwhelming to ignore, making Noctis lean up to meet his lips in a second lingering kiss. 

It's not the kind of embrace they used to share as tentative teenage boys, skirting around their feelings for one another over chaste pecks under the guise of 'practising for girls'. It's the kind of kiss that says in no uncertain terms that Iggy belongs to him, all of him-- autonomy be fucked, the prince gets what he wants and what he wants is Ignis.

His advisor kisses back like he's trying to fit fifteen years of desperate longing into five minutes, sliding his tongue almost forcefully past Noct's pliant lips unexpectedly. While Noctis is distracted with his sudden affection, Ignis is using his hands to shove the king's shirt up, pausing only to help him slip it over his head.

Having his tongue slide purposefully over the wet expanse of his mouth feels good, almost better than their chaste pecks before. While it almost reminds him of Prompto, Ignis doesn't seem to get distracted, focused completely on the boy underneath him with an attention he finds endearingly characteristic.

It's not perfect, but it's as close to perfection as he'll ever get. This will have to keep his mind away from the terrible burden of living for just a few hours, but it's something. Noctis wants to be selfish with everything he has, and for a little while, he can be. The end is in his sights. He'll take whatever Ignis has to give him until then.

His advisor seems to have the same idea as he pulls Noctis closer, hands gripping firmly around his waist as he tugs him across the bed. Noctis doesn't expect having his jeans pulled over his ass abruptly either, caught off guard by his advisors sudden stroke of confidence. He notices that Ignis likes to touch, his favourite being his thighs, fingertips grazing soft circles over the pale expanse of his skin almost hypnotically as he feels what he can't see anymore.

Noct has no choice but to move his hands away from Iggy's face as his advisor sinks low, shuddering as gentle kisses are left behind over his taut stomach. Ignis clearly knows what he's doing, so Noctis decides to let him, trying to relax despite the butterflies staging a mutiny in his lower abdomen. His advisor must notice, because his kisses stop only for Ignis to murmur “allow me” and take his cock in his warm wet mouth all the way to the base.

The sound Noctis makes is positively sinful, turning Ignis on more than sucking on his cock does. Ignis can feel him arch his back, pressing the head of his length against the back of his throat. His pre-cum is almost bitter, but Ignis loves it, rewarded when he hollows his cheeks and sucks hard enough to have Noct leaking.

Noctis doesn't know where to put his hands, fumbling awkwardly with his fingers before he settles for touching Iggy's soft hair. Ignis seems pleased with that decision, if the humming sound he makes is anything to go by, vibrating against his dick and earning another almost uncomfortably loud groan from Noct's lips before he purses them shut tightly. 

“Ignis-- stop--”

The advisor freezes in one place for a second, and then two, drawing back slowly with his mouth still wrapped tight around his cock. Noctis presses himself into the mattress to avoid bucking back up into the wet heat waiting for him just inches above the head of his length, his dick throbbing almost painfully hard when he parts with a sucking noise. Telling him to stop took some effort.

“Is that what you want?” Ignis asks, polite as ever, in that low rasping voice that sends chills over Noct's spine. The prince is thankful he doesn't have to phrase his request aloud, eyes half-lidded as his thumb shifts slowly over Ignis's bottom lip.

“Yeah,” Noctis keens, far needier than he was trying to be. 

Judging by Ignis's smile, it must not have been as pathetic as he felt. Noctis wants to lean in and kiss those lips again, but his advisor is leaning over the side of his bed, rummaging blindly through the bag he stuffed under the bed for just an occasion. Noct almost wants to tease him for his foresight, but it's times like these where it certainly comes in handy.

Noctis stops him from using his fingers by reaching out and taking his wrist, the smile on Ignis's face faltering into a concerned furrow of his brow as he questions if Noct's sure. At the very least, Ignis pulls at the hemline of his pyjamas, coating his cock in lube so he's not bare-backing recklessly. When Noctis scoffs quietly, Ignis can picture the rolling of his eyes, but he won't risk the pain even if Noctis liked it in the tent.

Ignis slides all the way in with a single thrust, hips rolling as he drives Noctis up a little further on the mattress. Noct's back arches, a long, drawn-out whine slipping from his mouth while his hands scramble for Ignis's shoulders. His advisor doesn't seem to mind the nails, leaning in close enough to feel the king's chest against his.

Noctis has a hard time keeping himself in one place when Ignis starts fucking him in earnest, no time to adjust this time as his cock grazes his prostate perfectly in this angle. He feels full, satisfaction written all over his face, thankful Ignis can't tease him about the blissed-out flush in his cheeks.

It's one of those rare times where Ignis doesn't care about how loud he is, undeterred by who might be walking past outside. Noctis is sure to be vocal about how much he likes it, his pitch rising when Ignis is fucking into him all the way. With the way Iggy is leaning over him, he's careful not to get too loud and hurt his ears, but like Ignis knows full well what he's doing he slams into his hole a little harder and wrenches loud gasps into the warm night air.

He's pulled closer across the mattress a second time when Iggy's fucking makes his frame bounce upward, but he can feel Ignis's nails dig pleasantly into his skin as he finds a better grip, angling the head of his cock directly against his sweet spot this time. It feels so unbelievably fucking good it makes Noctis see white, aware somewhere far away that he's drooling, finding it hard to swallow when Ignis pulls sobs from his lips like a symphony.

Ignis looks beautiful like this, with his hair falling in front of his face and his toned chest on full display while he reams him open. Noctis feels like he could admire him like that forever, wishing now more than ever he had a picture he could save. Prompto's camera is likely still in his bag, but Noct can't bring himself to touch it, much less look at it.

He places his hands above Noct's shoulders instead, and Noctis can feel the heat from his arms as he's pressed up against his skin with every hard thrust. This is exactly what he wanted, and he's sure to thank him, spilling out “thank you” on repeat every time Ignis abuses his prostate. He can feel himself getting closer and he hasn't even touched his own cock yet, wondering if it feels this good for Prompto when he's getting ruined by their shield. 

Ignis leans in, pressing his lips softly against his king's mouth, sending a jolt of electricity over Noct's entire body. His advisor fucks in one more time, and Noctis wails sharply as he drenches his own chest in cum. It was powerful, making Noct's abdomen continue to clench down even after he's finished, feeling it ease the tension in every ounce of him.

Ignis continues to pound his ass despite how oversensitive he is, and Noctis loves it, pleased he doesn't try to pull out this time. Noctis is clenching hard around him, enough to feel his cock pulsing as he slams it back in, leaving him almost excruciatingly empty before filling him up all over again.

It doesn't take long at all with how tight Noctis feels. Iggy's hips are stuttering as he finishes inside his raw tunnel, but it feels good inside him, like a wet heat in parts of him he hadn't thought of. Noctis is still gasping as Ignis rides out the last wave of his orgasm, fucking him slow before pulling out as if he's reluctant to leave.

Noctis feels pleasantly warm even if Ignis rushes to find something he can dry him off with. No doubt Iggy's mortified, but once again Noctis takes his balled up shirt from his hands, cleaning the cum from his chest dutifully. Of course Ignis tries to protest, but Noctis tells him to shut up and leans up for another soft kiss.

“I'm apologize wholeheartedly if I--”

“That was exactly what I needed.” Noctis cuts him off before he can backtrack. “Maybe I can convince you to go without the sticky stuff next time.”

“I heard a commotion--”

Gladiolus pauses in the doorway, his hand still resting heavy on the doorknob as his eyes fall over the naked men on the adjacent bed. He doesn't have the same deer-in-headlights look Prompto would've given them if he had walked in on a private moment, but there's a spark of something that flashes across his eyes like brief recognition. 

Noctis continues to stare at him for the next few moments that follow, though Ignis doesn't seem deterred. His advisor reaches for his pyjama pants from the floor for modesty's sake, but Noct can see the relaxation in his demeanour, not as caught off guard as the prince was.

“I missed it again?”

“Again?” Ignis questions.

“I walked in on his majesty playin' hide the sausage with Prompto's face last time.”

Noctis can feel the mortification settling in. The colour drains from his face and leaves him looking like a sheet, but thankfully, Ignis doesn't appear hurt by this new information. Instead he hums contemplatively before turning to face Noctis, a single eyebrow raised almost curiously.

“It would be a shame to leave Gladio out in the cold.”

The colour quickly finds its way back into Noctis's cheeks, drawing a laugh from his shield, who quietly shut the door behind him and flicked the lock into position. If only they had remembered to do that last time, Noctis muses thoughtfully, mustering up as much blandness as he can before he replies.

“What say you, highness?”

“Just get it over with.”

Gladio isn't deterred by his forced nonchalance in the least. The look on Noct's face says all he needs to know. While he meanders toward the bed, Noctis watches with rapt attention as he takes off his belt, almost slow enough to wonder if he's doing it on purpose.

“On your feet.”

Noctis is just happy he's not trying to manhandle him this time. He pulls himself to his feet sluggishly, almost toppling over when he finds his thighs still pliant after keeping them spread. Gladiolus reaches out to catch him before he can stumble, warm hands roaming over his hips before sliding confidently toward his ass.

Ignis looks like he's preparing to lie down again before Gladio stops him, placing Noctis at attention between them with his back against his shield's torso. 

“It wouldn't be fair to make Iggy sit this one out after his generosity. Why don't you let him have a nice, good look.”

Noctis wants to ask what the hell he's talking about up until Gladio is bending him over, a single hand pressing hard between his shoulders and forcing him forward. There's the manhandling, Noctis thinks bitterly, catching himself from falling face-first into Ignis's lap with his hands on the bedspread. 

Ignis looks curious, if not a little confused, but he's close enough to kiss so Noct's complaints are put on the back burner. Noctis focuses on the steady rise and fall of Ignis's chest as he breathes, keeping his thoughts away from the shield standing almost rigid directly behind him.

This is most certainly Gladiolus, but he still feels an almost uncomfortable weight in his stomach when he wonders if it might not be. Ignis is here this time, literal inches away, so close Noctis can almost taste him. It'll be okay, so long as he stays put right where he is.

Noctis gasps sharply for a dozenth time when Gladio starts entering him from behind, distracted by Ignis and having not braced himself for it. He can feel his shield groaning lowly behind him, a deep sound that settles in his chest and makes him shudder, but his own voice is a mantra of “oh fuck” as he's fucked open for a second time.

He's more pliant than he'd like to be as he takes all of his cock in one slow movement, aided by the cum and lube still pouring out of his ass. Noctis thinks it'd be gross but Gladio seems to like it enough, placing his strong hands on Noct's waist as he starts fucking him slowly.

Ignis had his own hands on Noctis's face, caressing his jawline and stroking his fingertips over every little part. That must be what Gladio was getting at, because Noctis can hear his advisor's breathing speed up, 'seeing' his expression with his hands instead of his sight. Ignis must like what he sees, because he flushes himself and Noctis feels gratified that he's not the only one.

Thank the Six for the hands holding him steady, because Noctis isn't sure he'd be able to hold himself after Gladio starts fucking him a little faster. It's not the same punishing pace Ignis set for him earlier, but he can feel his cock scraping his swollen prostate, getting hard for a second time without needing any extra attention.

Noctis turns his head toward Ignis's chest instead, realizing a little too late that he's moaning at him like a whore. Ignis responds by forcing his gaze back up, leaning in for more sweet kisses while Gladio screws him from behind, seemingly just as undeterred by the sounds he makes every time Gladio's fucking back in. 

Gladiolus must be watching them. Noctis can hear him groan again, finding better grip on his waist, still not hard enough to bruise like the gentle lover Prompto said he was. He waits patiently for Ignis to stop leaning in for selfish kisses before he picks up the pace, slamming into him even harder in a way that has Noctis screaming.

Gladio forced another orgasm from his body before he was ready, cumming again on the floor this time. It creeped up on him secretly, blindsiding him with a hot wave of pleasure that had his legs shaking. Ignis was still caressing his face, touching him gently through the satisfied tears that spilled from his eyes, whispering praises under his breath for being so complacent. He continues to praise him as Gladio uses his ass, keeping him from falling to the floor with the firm grip on his hips.

Noctis isn't sure he could cum a third time, but Gladio doesn't try to make him do it again. He could probably sit back and let his prostate get used for hours if they felt like it, but his body is hard pressed to find another orgasm in him so soon after the last two. Ignis's fingers fall to his bottom lip, grazing over his wet mouth softly, and Noctis licks over them once before he feels Gladio filling his ass with a second load of cum. 

This time he grimaces. Gladio fills him up as deep as he can go, pressing into his ass hard, but when he pulls out Noctis can feel it spilling out of his hole and gushing to the floor below. Getting used twice left him open and almost achingly empty, but Gladio fixes that briefly when he gathers up cum on his fingers and fucks it back inside with three digits.

“I think we made a mess of him, Iggy.”

“Hm. Let me see.”

Noctis wants to argue that no, he can't see, but Gladiolus is turning him around without much protest. Noct can feel his face burning with embarrassment as Gladio holds him up against his chest, strong arms wrapped around his lithe waist as he keeps him held still. When he looks up to meet his gaze, the most he gets is a wink in return.

Ignis has his cheeks spread, one of his fingers gliding carefully over his opening. The embarrassment gets too much for Noctis, who grumbles something about taking a picture and how it'll last longer. Gladio responds with a chuckle, still smirking from above like a malevolent god.

“Perhaps we should've taken it easier on him.”

“I really don't think princess was complaining.”

Noctis was gearing up to complain before Ignis is licking his ass, his tongue warm and soft over his used opening as he eases some of his discomfort. Though he tries to protest, the 'no' he murmurs trails off into nothing, humiliation pushed to the side for a few minutes as Iggy makes him feel good.

Ignis doesn't try to fuck his tongue back into his pliant hole, cleaning the cum that spills from his opening carefully with long, slow licks. It'd almost be enough to get him hard if he wasn't completely spent, but he can feel his cock throb with renewed interest, whining quietly when the flat of his tongue laves over more sensitive parts.

Gladio was still holding him dutifully, and Noctis didn't realize he was leaning most of his weight into him until the man above him shifts slightly in one place. The shield looks over his shoulder as if to get a better view, murmuring 'damn' just before Noctis is feeling Ignis retreat.

“Gladio, if you could retrieve his sleepwear for me.”

“Will do.”

Noctis topples onto the mattress like he's weightless, tiredness hitting him all at once. Sleep pulls him in from the beyond even before Gladio is returning with his clothes, but no doubt his advisor will pull them on him while he rests. Maybe it's another selfish desire, but it's selfishness that's keeping him going. He can feel the tears that still wet his pillow against his cheek.

Wherever Prompto is, he just hopes he's safe. He wishes he could have him here now, but this will have to take his mind away from the terrible burden of living and losing his best friend both.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has some super sensitive content in it so i wouldnt read it if youre not good with that sort of thing. thanks for reading! i have so much love and appreciation for everyone that gave kudos, commented, subscribed or bookmarked. knowing that people enjoy it gives me the motivation to post more chapters instead of scrapping it (like i probably should). if you have questions / wanna chat about ffxv / just support the story, you can find me at chewingskin.tumblr.com 
> 
> i hope youre all having a great day out there (｡♥‿♥｡)

Seconds blended into minutes, and minutes into hours. Time seemed to stretch on forever: whether or not that was Ardyn's doing was still unclear. There was no sun on the horizon to mark the passing of time, no clocks and no cellphone to be sure of how long they'd been sitting there. Prompto had been clutching the chancellor's shirt in his grip so tightly he hadn't realized his fingers went stiff, pulsating with pain and the only clear identifier that time had passed at all.

The sky outside exposed the infinite cosmos above, the stars shining even brighter than usual in the distant abyss. At first the blank canvas above swallowed him whole, but he found himself melting into it now, melding into the empty space between flickering lights. Dissociating helped him cope, up until Ardyn was unwinding his digits from his clothes, joints alight with a sharp pin-pricks.

Prompto was close to a panic attack when the chancellor tried to leave, lungs constricting with rapid spasms that launched him into hyperventilating. The dark he experienced not long before had swallowed him whole with fear, dreading every darkened corner as if he expected something lurking in the shadows. It overpowered his desire to push the man away, desperate not to be left alone.

When Ardyn simply smiled and asked if he'd prefer company, he knew better than to lie this time. Hesitating, Prompto agreed, overwhelmed with a sense of dread when gold eyes gleamed back with mercurial amusement.

Which brought him to the hallway, feet making a rhythmic pattering noise as he followed close behind the chancellor's flamboyant form. The floor was cold, sending an icy chill through his body, but it seemed like Ardyn didn't notice the temperature difference between one room and the next. It made Prompto wonder if it was another side effect of the scourge running through his veins. The chancellor's inability to feel pain must've extended to his heat sensitivity.

Ardyn had a desire for warmth. It was in the way he tried to put his hands on him at any given opportunity, and in the way those touches lingered too long for comfort. It was also in the way he craved the warmth inside Prompto's heart, growing an obsession with his sunshine after what he said was 'a long time without'.

Hallways led to more hallways, looking more and more like a labyrinth in design than headquarters for nefarious old people. The Nefarious Old People Empire, or as Prompto liked to call it,”NOPE” for short.

Every wall is a reflective metallic, forcing him to look at himself at any given moment. Prompto can see the dark circles under his eyes and the bruises starting to adorn his shoulders, crawling up toward his throat like flowers blossoming under his skin. They're a deep purple colour extending into yellow, blotching and worsening after his hot bath only hours before.

Perhaps it was minutes. The clock had stopped ticking at one point, he was sure of it.

Ardyn brought him to a door, an inconspicuous looking thing built directly in the middle of a hallway. The first thing he notices are the gaskets that surround every gap, all of his attention drawn toward the silicone weatherstripping sealing away whatever lied on the other side. This is a door built with soundproofing in mind. It's impressive work. The empire spared no expense when it came to this place.

Prompto's hands feel clammy around the steel of his gun, his pistol sliding into his grip by the man standing directly behind him. Ardyn's pressed up closely against his back while he voluntarily hands him the same weapon he shot him with, a breath ghosting his neck before he speaks.

“This is just for precaution's sake.” Ardyn purrs. “I do hope you won't have to use it.”

The chancellor is unceremonious as he pushes Prompto inside the dimly lit room. He doesn't have to strain to hear the lock click into place behind him, trapping him on the other side of the door, feeling his hope diminish when he realizes there's no visible escape. There isn't even a doorknob, meant to keep things like daemons and Prompto inside.

That's what he'd been expecting. Maybe an iron giant would've been easier to suffer a defeat from, instead of the hands of an immortal douchebag. At least they'd be quick about it instead of toying with him like a game of cat and mouse. It disturbs him how often he finds himself thinking of death lately, since giving himself the option is out of the question.

Nothing could've prepared him for seeing Ravus Fleuret on the other side, chained to the wall by a metal collar coiled tightly around his throat. The man is sitting on the dirty floor in once-white arraignments, knees drawn up and his arms wrapped tightly around himself, not bothering to lift his head to greet him.

For a moment, he thinks Ravus could be fast asleep sitting up, until the chain behind him clinks against the wall as the commander moves subtly to the left. Instinctively, Prompto raises the barrel of his gun toward the man on the floor, feeling silly all of a sudden for doing so. The metal collar doesn't allow him within arm's reach, much less to the floor.

The blond lowers his pistol back to his side, but his eyes are trained on him still as he watches for any sudden movements. This room is just as cold as the hallway, reminding him of his lack of clothes with a cool breeze, though it seems the high commander doesn't notice or doesn't care.

“Hm. That's a new one.” Ravus mumbles, quiet as though he's talking to himself.

“I'm not him.” Prompto answers automatically.

“Curious. He doesn't oft allow visitors.”

“That's because I asked.”

“You... asked?”

“I... didn't want to be alone.”

Prompto finds no reason to hide his motives from the high commander this time. There's no reason to evade his question, even if he finds it shameful that he can't be alone right now. Ravus, of all people, would see it as a sign of weakness. Lowering his defences in front of him could only bode disaster, even if there's a definite power imbalance in Prompto's favour this time. 

“Even more curious he'd appease your request so simply.”

The gun starts to feel out of place, still resting at his side with his finger poised close to the trigger. It couldn't hurt to try and put it back in storage, but it fails to disappear, causing him to sigh with exasperation as his grip on the pistol remains. Whatever magic is interfering with the Crystal, he just hopes Noctis has his weapons at disposal still.

“That's not going to work.” The white-haired commander states blandly.

The slight flick of his wrist and sigh that followed must've been noticed, and Prompto feels embarrassed for trying in front of the imperial officer. There's no reason to be, especially in the compromising positions they're both in, one chained to the wall and the other half-naked. It still makes his face feel warm against his better judgment. 

“Why not?” 

“The imperial army was leading research on manipulating the Crystal's energy field, creating a machine that transferred the power your king was leeching from and giving him access to your armoury.”

“W-- What? You're saying Ardyn's got control of all our weapons?”

“Did I stutter?”

Ravus snaps with a bitter edge to his voice, and Prompto blinks upon the sudden retaliation. If the high commander hasn't been getting enough sleep, it would explain why he's so irritable, but the anger he presents doesn't bother him this time. Maybe it has something to do with the vulnerable position he's in, on the floor and indisposed.

The metal around his neck restricts a lot of his movement. Prompto notices that the chain is positioned strategically as not to allow him rest on the floor, which he figures could be an almost clever form of torture. It's a small relief Ardyn hasn't done the same to him-- but he's still horribly sympathetic, even to the enemy on the floor across the small metal enclosure.

“How would I destroy it?”

It's the first time since they've begun talking that Ravus finally moves his gaze from the floor, looking up directly at the blond pressed against the adjacent wall. Prompto can't help the gasp that slips past his lips when he finally gets a good look: miasma, black as the night sky, drips from his heterochromic eyes and paints his pale cheeks like streaks of blood.

He's turning, there's no doubt about it. There are plenty of similarities between this and the confrontation with Verstael, from the gun in his hands to the chancellor's involvement, but he has no intention of executing anyone this time. Ardyn must've known that, observing from elsewhere like a twisted experiment. 

Ravus sneers upon seeing his reaction, but his expression quickly falls into one of resignation. He looks as if he too is disgusted with himself, averting his stare first, allowing Prompto a brief glimpse at the softness within. This isn't the same person who wrapped his hands around Noct's throat.

“The mechanism lies deep within the keep itself. You'll need to enter the infantry and tear it apart.”

The commander sounds as if he's growing increasingly aggravated with Prompto's questions, but the blond can't bring himself to care about his opinion in this moment. It's vital information he'll have to remember for later, even if he can't use it now. Noctis will need to know about it, when he turns up.

If he turns up.

Prompto quickly shakes the intrusive thought from his head. Ravus doesn't seem to notice, still looking off tiredly elsewhere. If the gunman really focuses, he can see the handsome face beneath the black tar-like substance smeared on his skin and his clothes. There are even darker circles around his eyes, and he knows then that it must've been weeks since he's had a decent night's rest.

Ardyn said having his gun on hand was just a precaution, so it's unlikely that Ravus is about to turn and paint the room with his insides. It's as if the high commander's been fighting the temptation a long time even without scourge in his veins, but resisting now couldn't have been a walk in the park.

Ravus has been hanging onto whatever small amount of humanity he has left, slowing down the process, but powerless to stop it. It probably didn't help that time seemed to move even slower here, trapped like mice in a cage and connected by their helplessness. 

“How long's it been since you've got some sleep?”

Prompto inquires curiously, genuine concern tinging his voice. He doesn't expect an open admittance, but sleep deprivation must've severely impaired his reasoning at this point. 

“A long time. I've started seeing things. I'm not quite sure you're even real.”

“I'm real, trust me.” The blond tries to sound reassuring, knowing it'll fall short.

“How quaint, the enemy proving more trustworthy than my own predecessors.” 

“I'm not your enemy. Not in here.”

“If you truly had intent to kill me, you'd have fired your weapon upon the moment your eyes laid bare to my sorry state of being.”

Prompto's reminded of the gun still resting loosely in his grip, sparing a glance at the weapon as if to make sure it's still there. The corners of his mouth flicker into a frown, hoping he won't be in need of it this time, when he's finally making friends with the older boy. His disdain for Noctis aside, Ravus is still the only semi-friendly face he's seen in days.

Not the most pleasant company, but he's still a change of pace. Spending all that time with Ardyn made him feel trapped, more-so than being locked in a room with the high commander of the Niflheim army. At the very least, Prompto had the upper hand here, some semblance of power in the pistol under his palm.

“Time passes differently here.” Ravus changes the subject. “One of his many mysteries.”

“He said he's an immortal, cursed by the Crystal.” Prompto tries to phrase it with disbelief.

“Like the legends? Funny.”

It's not funny, not one bit. Prompto was hoping the high commander would refute the idea, or call it ridiculous or stupid or silly, but he takes it surprisingly well. It must be the severe lack of sleep he's enduring that's making him so appeasing, giving the gunman even more leverage than his weapon. If he wants answers, he'll have to ask his questions now.

He can see the need to sleep written all over his face, even if his words are still strangely coherent. The most Prompto's ever gone without a full night's sleep was half a weekend with Noctis, challenging each other like stupid teenage boys hyped up on energy drinks. The blond can't imagine what days or weeks would be like.

“Do you know who Somnus is?”

“Somnus Lucis Caelum, the founder? What kind of commoner education do they teach you in Lucis.”

It wasn't that Prompto was bad in school. He was just prone to distraction and over-excitability, his attention drawn toward the window instead of the board most times. Still, the insult holds a bite that wouldn't normally bother him, making him flinch involuntarily. 

Ravus was watching as the hurt flickered across Prom's expression, curious and examining as if he were surprised to see his reaction. 

“I used to tell those stories to Luna when we were kids.” Ravus speaks softly. “It'd settle her.”

It's funny, he almost forgot Ravus was Luna's older brother. They look so alike and yet so different: where Luna was soft, Ravus was hard, sharp cheekbones and piercing eyes that glow back in the dark. Upon further inspection, he notices that one of his irises is the same colour as his sister's. Prompto can picture her looking at him with fondness, where Ravus looked at him with disdain.

“You look like her.” Prompto finds himself saying, before he can filter it.

The face Ravus wears softens from displeasure to something like appreciation. It's as close to appreciation as he thinks the high commander could ever get, at least, still hardened by the trauma and unwilling to let his strength slip.

“My thanks. She was indeed beautiful.”

Prompto smiles, a soft and open thing. Ravus flinches like he sees something in the curve of his lips, his eyes scaling over his facial features slowly, drinking in the pleasantries despite the fucked up situation they're in.

“You said 'that's a new one' when I came in. Does he do that a lot?”

“He comes to me as my sister,” Ravus slumps visibly. “lying in her voice, sweet as honey with the most awful words. What he does...”

“You don't have to tell me.”

Prompto's voice is monotonous, but Ravus sees what he's trying to say in his expression. The look they share between them says everything they need to know, what they both can't say aloud. Prompto wonders if this is what people mean when they say they have a connection with someone, even if what bonds them is an awful, awful thing. 

“If you need some sleep, you can rest on my shoulder.”

The high commander squints at him from across the room, barely visible in the low light. His eyes narrow into slits as he sizes up the blond, looking almost daemonic in the quiet dark of the room they share. Prompto feels embarrassed for asking suddenly, now awkward in front of him even as the man sits languidly on the floor.

“I mean, you don't have to--”

“I'm too tired to decline, even if you are an apparition.”

It wasn't supposed to be funny, but it makes Prompto smile anyway. It's the most he's smiled in days, feeling useful like this, even if it's a few passing moments in time. He's not Noctis, and he never will be, but he's someone to ease the ache for a few minutes.

The floor gets damp the closer he shuffles toward Ravus, crossing the cold floor with discomfort. Every step feels like an icy knife through the sole of his foot, folding his arms across his chest to conserve some of his body heat. He should've taken those clothes regardless of how loose they were, regretting not doing so now.

Ravus moves closer automatically, his skin still warm with life as he presses against his side. The commander noticed the way he hugged himself as he padded closer, evidently, as he's draping his arm over his shoulder and pulling him in tight. 

It's a very small comfort, being pressed up against someone who's dying, consoling him in what little moments he has left. That's what it should be, but it feels more like Prompto's the one being comforted this time. Ravus doesn't have hope left, and still he's hanging on by a thread. Prom wishes he knew what to do to make him feel even the slightest bit better.

The commander's hair tickles his face while he settles, his head resting heavily on Prompto's shoulder blade. It takes some shifting and Ravus looks like he's settled with discomfort in their height difference, but his eyelids close and Prom can feel his entire body relax as if he's slipped into sleep immediately.

“You didn't tell me why you're here.”

“I was sentenced to execution for betraying the empire. Ardyn's task, a fate worse than death.”

Was suffering an execution at Ardyn's hands really a fate worse than death? Prompto can't be sure. From what he's gleaned from their brief interaction, he's definitely not having an easy time. Just the thought of Ardyn appearing to him as his sister sends a chill through his bones, but what he does in that form... Prompto would rather not think about it. 

“I would ask you to kill me if I thought it would work.”

Prompto stiffens, tensing every muscle. Ravus doesn't seem to notice the shift in his body language, exhaling deeply through his nose, jumping only slightly when the sound of metal hitting metal echoes through their small enclosure. 

It must be a pipe clattering somewhere in the walls. Prompto tries to relax himself, setting the gun by his side instead, lest he get too trigger-happy and fire a shot into the dark. The bullet would ricochet, unless he were hitting something solid.

He tries not to think of what it would be like to murder Ravus, even if it's at his request. There's been too much blood spilled at his hands already, and he's certainly not killer material, even if Ardyn thinks otherwise. The darkness inside him will never truly have hold of him so long as he doesn't let it.

“Why wouldn't it work?”

Ravus doesn't reply. Prompto assumes it means that he's already fallen asleep, entwined with his dreams in very little time. There's an extra weight on his shoulder as the high commander exhales a second time, but his breathing is still shallow, laboured with every heave of his chest.

The outfit he's wearing probably doesn't give him much breathing space. The tethers bind together tightly, outlining the muscled definition of his torso through white and silver garbs that Prompto could only pay for if he sold his soul. Ravus having fashion sense is a surprise, even if it's official empire-sanctioned threads.

Prompto doesn't dare touch his clothes while he dreams. It would be different if it were Noctis, but he has to remind himself that it's very much not. What little leeway he was given in terms of touching isn't something he wants to push: the affection is nice, when it's not coming from the man he's been trapped with for days.

Time does seem to stretch on the longer he waits. There's nothing he can do to pass the time, other than try to catch some sleep himself, which he manages for only twenty minutes at a time. Every little sound outside the door wrenches him back to reality, tingling with fear as he wonders what's on the other side.

Ravus was, by all accounts, in a coma. It didn't matter how much Prompto shifted or stirred with every subtle noise. The commander didn't make a sound, almost dead weight while he dreamt of things just out of Prompto's reach. At least one of them was getting rest.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but it must've been a few hours. Prompto resigned himself to sleeping for only a few minutes at a time, up until he feels the commander start to stir, groaning lowly under his breath when strained muscles start to move.

“Did you sleep well--”

“ _Quiet._ ”

Prompto doesn't anticipate getting snapped at for a second time, but his lips purse shut near immediately. A small amount of hurt settles on his expression, but the high commander is straining to hear something, fine-tuned to the sound of metal dragging against metal and the jovial whistling nearing closer to their domain.

He wants to reach out and take the gun again, even if he knows it's no use. At the very least it gives him some small comfort, feeling smooth silver underneath his fingertips with a familiarity that made him feel a little less panicked.

Ardyn is whistling the chocobo theme song, slowed down almost casually as he neared the door outside. Whatever he's dragging with him accompanies the sound like a harmony, foreboding and unsettling at once. Even Ravus seems to tense, shifting up straighter against the wall.

“Well. Don't you make fast friends.”

The chancellor's voice chimes in from somewhere to Prompto's right, making him jump visibly. Whether it was Ardyn's intention to do so, he leers at the boy on the floor, the corners of his mouth turned up into a malicious smile as if he heard a cruel joke. 

Familiar silver dissipates from his grip like steam, there and then not in the blink of an eye. Ardyn must've pulled it back into his armoury while he was distracted, making him gulp audibly in the permeating silence of the room. 

Ravus makes a sound like a displeased moan, but he doesn't stir. Whatever fight he had vacates the premises, but Ardyn only has eyes for the blond still tucked up against his side. Something tells him that he disobeyed an unspoken order, based solely on the way the chancellor stares at him with displeasure.

Another chill courses through every inch of his body, setting his fight or flight reflex alight. Never before has he wanted to cower behind someone like this, turning his face away from Ardyn's gaze when his gaze starts to seep beneath his outer shell.

“I suppose it should've been expected, after your growing familiarity with the advisor-boy. Ignis, was it? Such a shame, he had such pretty eyes.”

Prompto can feel the commander tense this time, the moment Ignis' name left Ardyn's lips. The tactician was very secretive about what transpired that day at the altar, but judging from the reaction between them both, Ravus knew exactly what had happened.

“Our darling high commander here liked them much more than I, it seems.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, dear. Touchy subject?”

He doesn't have time to ask questions, because Ardyn circles them both like a predator, boring holes through Ravus instead. Prompto's glad he doesn't have his attention for a few seconds, but he looks at the commander like a dangerous thing, gold eyes narrowed into slits.

“Perhaps I need to remind you of your place, dear Ravus.”

Prompto doesn't have time to let his words settle in, either. While he was frozen with fear, Ardyn reeled his knee forward, driving the bone straight into Ravus's nose with a sickening crack. The commander hits his head off the wall behind him, yelping with pain as miasma pools from his nose and stains his pale mouth a deep black. 

When he finally gathers his faculties, Prompto's shifting onto his knees, begging “no!” at the top of his lungs while he tries to stop the second blow. Ardyn's knee meets Prompto's chest instead, knocking the breath out of him in one loud gasp and sending him sprawling over the commander's lap.

Ardyn reaches out to grip his hair between his fingers, tugging sharply as he forces him back to his feet. It doesn't hurt as much as being hit did, but he's left dry-heaving, desperate to filter air back into his lungs while the chancellor drags him off the silver-haired man underneath.

“Awfully friendly indeed, if you're so willing to take his punishment for him.”

Prompto is dragged across the damp floor by his hair, his hands reaching out to take Ardyn's wrist reflexively. The chancellor has an iron grip, tugging him forward as though he weighs nothing at all, undeterred by the hands clasped around his arm or the whine of pain that follows.

There wasn't enough opportunity to find better footing. Prompto was forced to his knees by the hand threaded through his blond locks, feeling the uneven terrain scratch at his skin, leaving him raw and cold. Just a brief glimpse back at the commander proves that Ravus is looking back at him, watching intently with a face that could kill.

“Do avoid looking away. I don't think you want to cause him any more unnecessary pain, do you?”

Ravus meets his gaze for only a moment, but it's enough time to see the look of sympathy that crosses his face. The commander wipes his mouth off on the back of his worn sleeve, grimacing when he turns his eyes back on Ardyn.

“You don't have to do this.”

“Now, now. It would be quite rude not to take your friend's mercy.”

While the gunman was preoccupied with looking back at Ravus, he didn't notice the chancellor working at the button on his arraignments, or the coy smile he wore as Ardyn stared back unflinchingly at the high commander across the room. 

Ardyn keeps mentioning their 'friendship', but Prompto feels like he couldn't even call it that. It was simply a matter of circumstance, one that Ardyn set up himself, even if it wasn't quite what he expected. Prom isn't sure what he's mad about: getting close to the enemy, or his refusal to kill him.

His pre-cum is bitter as the head of his cock presses up against Prompto's lips, but as he opens his mouth to gag, Ardyn is stuffing himself inside when the opportunity presented itself. It's just as massive as he remembered, forcing his jaw open, the strain making his ligaments burn. All at once, he's forcing it down his throat, filling him up unpleasantly wide and threatening to make him bleed.

Prompto's eyes start to water, brimming with tears as Ardyn eases the grip on his hair. The chancellor still hasn't let go, reminding him all too well to stay still despite no longer feeling himself pulled at, and Prompto almost chokes as Ardyn starts leaking directly into his gullet.

“I don't think I need to remind you again, Ravus.”

The commander must've looked away, because Ardyn draws his cock back only to slam it into his throat again. Prompto can feel himself aching already, his dick already pushing saliva from his mouth. The desire to choke is making his mouth water, struggling to keep it in while the chancellor violates him.

A brief glimpse toward the white-haired man proves that he's looking, although Prom can't discern the emotion on his face beyond a blank resignation. It's an expression only a broken man could wear, completely and utterly defeated. Prompto notices a single black tear slide from the corner of his eye and dapple his snow white coat, closing his own eyes so he doesn't have to witness the sad display.

Thankfully, Ardyn isn't too concerned with making Prompto watch as he is the chancellor. His movements are shallow, dragging his fat cock from his mouth only to plunge it back in, thoroughly fucking his tiny throat with only short thrusts. Prom finds that if he relaxes himself, he can take it easier, trying desperately to dissociate from the moment.

If he really tries, he can almost pretend he's back in Cape Caem, trapped between the bed and Noct's body all over again. It had been fun then, letting himself get used to please his prince, even if Noctis was only doing it for Ignis and had no interest in a little blond fuck-up. He'd been stupid thinking that Noct could love someone like him, someone so bruised on the inside, but for right now he can pretend.

The head of his cock is leaking again, pressing up against the back of his throat before sliding in smoothly. If he's not careful, he might bruise his mouth, but he knows better than to hope otherwise. This was a punishment. He'd been trying hard to stay good, and still it hadn't been enough.

Prompto moans lowly despite himself. In his mind, he can picture Noctis on top of him, slender and handsome like the models he's only seen in magazines. The warm ocean inside his irises, enveloping him in a sweet peace, travelling all the way down to the soft curve of his lips after a dumb joke. Noctis, fucking his mouth because he wanted to. Noctis, in all his radiance, coming undone as he filled him with cum and kissed him sweetly after.

Ardyn's thrusts grow a little more erratic, and Prompto's quickly derailed from that train of thought as he tries to swallow excess spit. It's near impossible to do when the chancellor is fucking his throat open, but judging from the way he groans low under his breath, the feeling of his mouth tightening around his length was exactly what he wanted.

“My, I daresay he _likes_ this.”

Prompto wants to deny it. Maybe even tell him what he's thinking about, just to rub salt in the wound, but Noctis fills his mind again and he moans softly for a second time. Ardyn must feel it in his cock, because a shudder coalesces over his entire frame, extending from his shoulders all the way to his toes.

He doesn't want to risk a glance toward Ravus, but Ardyn stares down at him with some twisted sort of adoration written all over his expression. Prompto can feel his face burn hot with shame and humility, but Ardyn fists his hand in his hair for a second time, making him yelp a strangled around around his length and causing him to leak again.

Thankfully, Ardyn doesn't last long at the rate he's going. Just a few more erratic, hard thrusts, and Prompto feels him spilling deep into his throat. It's warm and unpleasant and makes him wretch when the chancellor removes himself, sputtering saliva and semen from his reddened lips as he chokes back stale air.

“Oh, did that excite you?”

Prompto lifts his head from the floor reluctantly, casting a brief glance at the high commander on the opposite side. Ravus isn't looking at him directly this time, still grimacing to himself, but Prom's gaze quickly falls from his face to the tent in his pants. It doesn't make him feel anything at all, emotions set on the back burner for now.

“It's alright, you know. It's only natural that seeing someone so fetching in such a vulnerable state would make you feel that way.”

He wipes off his mouth on the back of his sleeve, trying to erase the evidence, even if the taste still lingers on his mouth like a constant reminder. Ardyn's hand furls in his hair again, this time a possessive thing as he stakes claim on what's his.

“Unfortunately, I don't play fair. Touching is no longer allowed, but you're welcome to look.”

*

Looking was limited to only a few seconds, evidently.

Prompto was on edge the entire walk back to his bedroom. Ardyn was quiet for the entire journey, but he could feel the chancellor's eyes on his spine as he walked, lingering on his bare legs in a way that made him shudder for the dozenth time. He wouldn't dare ask for more clothes. Ardyn already warned him about continuing to push his buttons.

He walks into the room, stopping short when he notices the subtle changes in decorum. A single meal is set upon the coffee table, bathed in the glow of candlelight, but there are two glasses of wine already poured at individual sides.

Ardyn hangs back for a few seconds to lock the door behind him, and Prom doesn't need to turn around to know that's what he's doing. Even the tell-tale click of the lock setting into place sets him on an edge, arms folded protectively in front of his torso as if it'd help quell his nerves.

Prompto takes a tentative step inside, peering over the food with suspicion. Whatever it is, it looks delicious, making him all the more wary. The chancellor might not have drugged him last time, but he's not totally out of the clear yet.

Though he was right to be suspicious, he was directing it towards the wrong thing. While he was busy wondering curiously about the two sets of glasses, Ardyn had manoeuvred his way around the blond boy in his stupor, his voice low and dangerous.

“Do you have a fondness for him?”

Prompto blinks, unsure of the question he's asking. If he was asking whether he had feelings for Ravus, he couldn't be more indifferent toward the white-haired commander wasting away in his locked room. Ravus could barely be considered a friend, much more a lover.

In the silence that follows, Ardyn shot his hand out toward the plate resting on the table. He turns, reeling his arm back, sending the plate shattering against the wall. It explodes into dozens of tiny shards with a loud crash, making Prompto jump at the suddenness. 

“Well?”

“N-- No.” Prompto swallows, arms holding himself even tighter. 

Again, Ardyn redirects his attention to the fireplace, sending the few books on top tumbling to the floor with one swift movement of his arm. Prompto almost didn't see it, he moved so fast, but he manages to still himself instead of jumping visibly for a second time.

“Is that what you do? Whoring yourself out to the first person who shows you kindness?”

His response is what makes the gunman flinch. Prompto takes a tentative step backward, adamant to cower in front of the imperial chancellor. It's not a movement that makes the man happy, earning himself another shattered photograph against the adjacent wall. Glass falls to the floor like myriad stars, glistening in the candlelight.

“I take you in. I shelter you from the horrors outside those walls. I feed you, I clothe you, I shower you in adoration and _this is how you repay me?_ ”

It's the first time Prompto's seen him lose his composure like this, quickly spiralling into a point of no return. He's not sure what to say to ease Ardyn's mind, but he wishes he did, if only to stop him from advancing on the blond next.

Ardyn starts pacing across the hardwood floor, hands entangled in his own long hair as if he's trying to maintain some semblance of stoicism. Prom almost expects him to reach out and shatter something else, but he turns on his heel to face the blond with blatant disapproval. 

“The high commander is nothing more than a common street rat. I could give you eternity, so why...”

Ardyn doesn't continue his monologue. The question he wants to ask lingers on his tongue, but he won't say, and Prompto couldn't care less about that either. While his eyes flicker from the mess and back to the chancellor, he finds he's curious himself.

The final puzzle slots itself into place nicely, nothing more than a spark that ignites into flame. Prompto shifts with discomfort as he finds himself realizing just why Ardyn is so temperamental, just why he found it necessary to punish one of them for something so chaste.

“Are you jealous?” Prompto asks quietly, as if he's unsure himself. “Is that why? You were jealous?”

The chancellor stops in his tracks, hands furling from his hair with a smile that stretches malevolently across his mouth. Prom shudders, he can't help it.

“Jealous? Darling, but you're already mine.”

Prompto would love to argue, but he can't find the words. In a way, he knows what Ardyn speaks of is the truth. If the boys were to learn of what transpired behind these walls, they'd be repulsed with Prompto's actions, just as he is with himself. Noctis would think he was a freak. They'd never love him again. Maybe no-one would.

Ardyn must've stopped time for a moment, because when Prompto blinks, he's suddenly much closer than he was seconds before. He doesn't even have the time to gasp before Ardyn's pressing his hands into his shoulders, tossing him back toward the mattress hard enough to bruise.

He almost goes sprawling, but Prompto tries to slink back across the covers, away from the chancellor's touch as far as he can manage. Ardyn follows him like a cat closing in on helpless prey, stalking across the soft blankets with a predatory gleam in the gold of his eyes.

“What is it that you want, Prompto?” He hums. “I could give you anything your heart's desire. I could make the world stop turning for you.”

“Noctis,” Prompto answers swiftly, and without thinking. “I want Noctis.”

“Ask and you shall receive, my love.”

Maybe he should've known better than to expect the real thing, but watching Ardyn shift is a fascinating process. His skin falls away like black ichor, seeping from the orifices on his face in a way that would almost be disgusting if Prompto wasn't so used to the repulsion already. Even his clothes seem to degrade into something else-- the familiarity of a Lucis designed uniform, black as night and expensive even as an illusion.

Even his tone changes into something pitch-perfect, the smoothness of Noct's voice almost impossible to tell apart from the real thing. The freckle under his jaw is there, the soft blue hues of his eyes pulling him in like a hug, warm and friendly while he peers down at Prompto's face. The only difference he can spot is in his smile-- still as skeevy as usual, even in another skin.

“How's this?”

Prompto nods instead of replying. It's almost disconcerting, knowing that he's not the real thing, and yet so picture-perfect he's almost identical. The similarities must fade underneath his clothes, on the parts of him he hasn't yet seen-- or maybe he has seen. Prompto almost wretches to think about him seeing Noctis with his clothes off, unaware while he bathes or sleeps or something else.

Maybe he's been around while Noctis was getting fucked, as sickening as it is to think about. If Ardyn's really been following them for as long as he says, there's a good chance he's seen everything. Even the things Prompto would rather he hadn't-,like falling flat on his face, or getting ruined by Gladio in the private peace of their shared hotel room.

He hadn't thought about the possibility that he could've been any one of his friends until now. There's nothing he can discern that'd differentiate him between any number of his pals, from tossing around in sleeping bags and sharing meals cooked by Iggy's hand. While he's busy trying to think of all the times his friends said something weird, Noctis-- Ardyn-- is shifting his cold hands up his shirt.

“I want a kiss.”

If it really were Noctis, Prompto wouldn't have hesitated, but it's not. Ardyn might present himself as the crowned prince in this instant, but he's so very far from it. Even the way he phrases his request is uncharacteristic, spoiling the image and reminding him all too well of who it is between his legs.

A full-body shudder creeps over his skin as cold fingertips graze the smooth expanse of his tummy, rubbing up toward his torso in long, languid movements. If he expends extra brain power and tries to pretend it's Noctis feeling him up, it keeps his bile held down in his stomach, long enough to earn a pout from the man on top as he doesn't get the reaction he wants.

“Come on, Prom. Don't you wanna kiss me?”

Noctis may be pouting, but there's a glint of something else in the soft blue of his eyes that makes him feel uneasy. Prompto thinks about turning away on purpose, but he doesn't want a repeat of the destruction from earlier, more shattered glass and broken books. The next thing he shatters might be bone. Prom doesn't want to take that chance.

He forces himself onto his elbows in order to reach his lips, but Ardyn bows to meet him half-way. It's the first consensual kiss he's gotten since he arrived, so of course the chancellor tries to milk it, forcing his smooth tongue past his lips and into the wet warmth of his mouth.

It even feels the same, which helps ease him through it. Prompto can picture him licking the roof of his mouth curiously inside the marquee, tired and sick after their excursion through the grotto. This Noctis is forceful, taking as much as he can while he permits it, laving over his tongue playfully as he waits for a response. 

As 'consensual' as it was, it takes Prompto a few moments to start kissing him back. It's a slow thing, purposeful and methodical, careful not to push the chancellor's buttons while he examines his mouth right back. It doesn't feel the same inside, doesn't have the same curves, but Noctis sighs a soft groan and presses into him harder.

Prompto knows where he's trying to lead him as he feels Noctis shift between his spread legs, his hands drifting up a little higher, resting over his torso for almost a second before his fingertips find his nipples. Ardyn's hands are softer as he tugs gently, looking for a reaction, pleased when Prompto's exhaling slowly through his nose.

Surprisingly, Ardyn is the first to stop the kiss. Prompto must've been getting lazy, sitting there with his mouth open, but Noctis is moving from his lips to his throat in one fluid movement. His lips are soft as he kisses over his throat, sending sparks of pleasure across his body. 

“Do you like it when I do that?”

Noctis asks in the same inquisitive tone Prompto pictured he would. As fucked up as this entire situation is, he has to hand it to the guy: he certainly knows how to make a mirage look convincing, right down to his choice of jargon. If he focuses, really focuses, he can pretend it's the real thing.

Prompto nods again, but it's quickly followed by a sharp gasp as Noctis parts his lips and digs his teeth in. It's not deep enough to break the skin, but it's enough to earn a quiet yelp of pain, turning his head away like it would make a difference. It looks like he's offering up his neck, which he realizes only when the chancellor is sucking more dark hickies to his throat.

A pleased rumble reverberates up from Ardyn's chest, and Prompto can feel it make its way through him. It's a sound that makes him remember just how close they are, just how unlike Noctis he is, but he tries to force his eyes shut and resist the temptation to push him away.

“Would he tell you how beautiful you are, like this?”

It's another question Prompto's unsure how to answer. In his fantasies, maybe he toyed with the idea, letting his mind run astray with scenarios where Noctis would shower him in his undivided attention. In reality, it was much different between them. Maybe this could be a fantasy, letting Ardyn play out how things would've happened if Prompto ever had the nerve.

The kisses to his neck linger, drifting toward the crook of his throat, lips still too awfully tender. The most he can respond with this time is a shrug, knowing that if he used his voice it would break. Noctis pauses in his tender ministrations, but he tugs sharply on his nipples again, drawing another gasp before he can purse his lips shut.

“Is that what you want?”

This time, Prompto nods. There's no use trying to lie, and they both know it.

Noctis lets his hands drift from his torso to his waistline, fingertips cold as he grazes the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs. He's on his knees, keeping Prompto's legs spread apart, but there's very little reluctance in Prompto's features this time. The blond can't say no, even when he knows it's not the real prince.

A short sob heaves through his chest as Noctis finally takes his half-hard cock in his hand, stroking it just as slow and tenderly as his kisses. It makes Prom's toes curl, tensing visibly as his thumb grazes over his leaking slit. 

Noct hums curiously from somewhere above, Prompto's eyes still glued shut. His hand doesn't stop, jerking him off at an almost torturous slow pace, earning more sharp gasps every time his fingers touch his more sensitive parts. The shirt he's wearing is riding up over his waist, and when he reaches his hands out to slide it back down, Ardyn stops him by whispering 'not yet'.

Somewhere in his stroking, Ardyn must've soaked his own fingers, because it's not long before he's pressing his index into the warmth between Prompto's legs. He must feel how tense he still is, because he murmurs “just relax” in a voice so Noctis he does it without thinking.

Prompto moans miserably as Noctis strokes over his prostate with his fingers, adding a second when he felt him go loose into the sheets. He crooks his digits too expertly, fucking him open just as slowly as his stroking, not at all the inexperienced lover he would've thought Noct was. The only thing keeping him from retching is the pleasure that courses through his abdomen in sharp pangs.

Before, it had been fast and unkind. It was a lot easier to hate him when he was being used against his will, but there's a disconnect between his body and his mind, compartmentalizing two separate feelings into one mess. As much as he doesn't like him, Ardyn knows how to make him feel good.

He's aware somewhere that the only sound in the room is his own panting, short intakes of air every time Noctis angles his fingers perfectly. Prompto doesn't try to stop himself from squirming, but Ardyn doesn't seem to mind, dragging his fingers back into his opening carefully every time. 

It's like this for a few minutes, but Prompto feels like it's been decades. Ardyn is taking his time, relishing every response his body makes like a twisted voyeur. By the time he opens his eyes, he feels a surge of warmth spread across his chest upon seeing Noctis looking back at him, an involuntary reaction even knowing this isn't the one he wants.

“Damn, Prompto.” Noctis smiles, another warmth in his chest. “You sure know how to work a guy up.”

He drapes his arm across his face, hiding the blush of embarrassment that follows from his gaze. It finally makes the chancellor stop, drawing his hand away from his cock just to move his arm back.

“Let me see.” Noct's voice commands. “I wanna see you.”

Prom still can't tell him no. He wants to, but his words aren't agreeing with him, falling short before they ever reach his lips. The arm once shielding his face moves back to his side reluctantly, and it's Noctis's turn to make a noise of pleasure this time, eyeing him down like a full-course meal.

His fingers are the next thing to go, easing out of his ass as though he doesn't want to leave. Prompto's eyes are open this time as he watches his hands move to his royal arraignments, fingers prying apart the buttons of his pants almost tauntingly. 

Prompto almost expects him to ask him to take them off instead, but thankfully the request never comes. The most disturbing aspect of it all has to be the attention to detail below the belt, soft black pubic hair crowning the curve of his delicious-looking cock. He has to remind himself then that it's not Noctis, it will never be Noctis, but it's as close to perfection as he'll ever get.

“You like it?”

Noctis asks with such hopefulness, an earnest tinge to his voice that makes Prompto's heart sink. For a fleeting moment, he wants to tell him yes: but his eyes meet Ardyn's gaze and his words are dying swiftly for the millionth time this week. 

It ultimately doesn't matter. The look he wears is enough. Noctis is chuckling as he sinks down to his level again, enveloping his body under his chilly frame as he lines up his length with Prom's opening. A single hand reaches out to stroke blond hair away from Prompto's forehead, and he tries not to think of where its been mere moments before.

Clasping his upper arms, Prompto braces himself for a fucking, but Noctis is taking it slow. It's like he's intentionally trying not to hurt him, showering him in his affection, just as he wanted. It makes him wonder if Ardyn wasn't lying when he said he'd give him what he wanted. He asked for compliments, desiring that sweet affection he would've gotten from his friends, and that's what he was given.

A second kiss lingers on his lips, and then a third. Prompto can't help the tears brimming in his eyes, threatening to spill out over his cheeks, but Noctis moves from his mouth to nuzzle his cheek with adoration. It's how he would've imagined it, making it just a little easier to let him do what he wants.

Prompto's fucked out slowly as Noctis enters him from above, but he's not as massive as the chancellor and it fills him up nicely. By all accounts this is lovemaking: slow and deliberate, filled with a feeling of pleasure all the way to his toes. It's not how being with Ardyn usually was, aiding his attempts to pretend he's someone else.

“Gods alive, you are fucking gorgeous.”

Prompto's not sure what makes him groan louder. It's either the head of his cock pressing up mercilessly against his prostate before sliding home all the way, bottoming out in his ass in one thrust, or the compliment spoken so dirty in Noct's voice. For an awful moment, it doesn't matter who he is; that he's here now is enough, fucking him exactly how he wants it.

Noctis rocks up inside of him instead of pulling out. Prompto can feel his cock grazing his sweet spot as he moves, not enough to get him off but enough to feel good deep in his abdomen. His hands clutch even tighter at his arms, nails threatening to sink into the fabric and dig into his skin.

The man above him moans as he feels Prompto clench down hard, catching himself from toppling forward with his hands on the pillows instead. While the blond is busy catching his breath, Noctis is pulling out, only to slam back in and wrench a scream from Prom's throat.

Whatever he did, he could feel it in his tummy. Like a spark of magic, it set his lower abdomen on fire, burning hot with lust and pleasure indiscriminately. Prompto's back arches off the mattress below, but Noctis uses the advantage to slam back into him again, this time purposefully angling the head of his cock up against his prostate in his new position.

The scream that follows is muddled with a strained “fuck” that tapers off at the end, and Prompto knows at this point that he's one more thrust away from an orgasm. It was quick and boiling over fast, making him rock his hips toward the source, desperate to feel him up against his sweet spot one more time.

Noctis is more than accommodating with that little request, because his thrusts pick up speed, slamming into his hole almost ruthlessly hard. Just two more strokes and Prompto is cumming, white hot and spattering over his torso almost powerful enough to reach his face. As gross as it is, Noctis doesn't stop, fucking him through it at the same brutal pace he set seconds before. 

Even if it's not him, Noct is beautiful during sex. His hair falls into his eyes, obscuring the soft blues of his irises, and Prompto reaches out to push his hair back reflexively. While his fingertips thread through his soft black locks, Noctis moans loudly, re-positioning his hands to Prompto's hips as he finds better leverage.

The mattress is rocking in time with his thrusts, the headboard slamming rhythmically off the wall behind it. Prompto is aware somewhere distantly that he's wailing, his voice slurring between “oh, gods” and “fuck” like a mantra. He can't hear the man on top of him making sound over his own noise, but Noctis pulls it from his lips like a melody, no longer concerned with taking it slow.

Prompto closes his eyes when another wave of pleasure seeps through his entire frame, fingers twisting in the covers instead of Noct's shirt. Though his nails didn't seem to cause much pain, it's easier to squirm when there's something pliant in his grip, writhing underneath him every time he grazes his prostate with his thrusts. 

“Look at me, baby.”

If it's a command, it doesn't sound like one. It doesn't stop him from looking anyway, peering up at his face only to feel his eyes almost roll into the back of his head after. Noctis was rewarding him by angling his thrusts into his sweet spot again, Prompto's lips fallen open in a silent scream as he cums a second time.

It's one of those whole-body orgasms that sends him into a shaking fit, trembling uncontrollably as Noctis uses his ass as he sees fit. The stamina he possesses must be crazy. Prompto hasn't been fucked for more than ten minutes, and already he feels lethargic trying to keep up.

Even his wailing delves into sobs as he's fucked relentlessly into the bed. Noctis moves his hands away from his hips, and he hadn't realized he'd been clutching so hard until pain laces over the bone. There will be bruises later he'll have to take care of, but right now he doesn't care, legs falling apart limply as Noct pounds his hole.

Again his hands find his hair, and again Noctis groans lowly above him. Prompto notices that his thrusts grow shallow as he plays with his hair, fingers grazing just a little too hard against his scalp. Noctis doesn't seem to mind the difference in pressure, elbows resting on the mattress as he presses himself against Prompto's frame.

He's very quickly losing himself in it. Prompto's eyes glaze over while he scans Noct's flushed face, trying to take in the memory before it has to fade away. It's not real, but it's something.

“One more for me.”

Prompto shakes his head no, unsure if he could even manage at this rate. Though his thrusts feel almost overwhelmingly good, he knows he's running on empty, and there's not that much to give. It doesn't seem like Noctis cares, because his hand reaches between them both after a second.

Noctis strokes him almost in time with his hard fucking, using his cum as lube as he uses his ass. Prompto wants to crawl away from the onslaught of pleasure close to bordering pain, but there's nowhere to go, trapped between the man above and the bedspread.

He manages a scream when he makes it a third time, his back arching off the bed again like a bowstring drawn too tight. Noct's thrusting stutters as he feels him clenching down hard, but he's quickly emptying himself deep in Prompto's ass, filling him up so thoroughly there's nowhere left for it to go except out. 

Prompto wants to grimace as he feels cum seeping from his used hole, no doubt wetting the bed underneath. Noctis was murmuring “that's it” under his breath while he rocked out his orgasm, cumming while Prompto was in the middle of his high, reaching his own peak simultaneously. 

Everything feels raw and open. Prompto wants to sink inside the shirt he wears, to disappear forever and never return, amplified when he hears Ardyn click his tongue against his teeth. The skin he wears doesn't fade as he draws his cock back out of his ass, relishing the way Prompto feels surrounding him on every side.

“If I were a younger man, perhaps I'd have courted you properly.”

It's weird, hearing Ardyn speak normally in Noctis's voice. Well. As normally as he got, at least.

“Perhaps I'd have made you a king in your own right. Lavish you in gold and jewels like sacrifices to a deity borne from sunlight. But you were never one for material possession, were you?”

Prompto tries to sit up, but he gives up half-way. His ass hurts, his heart hurts, and he's starting to feel the oncoming of a headache filtering into the edges of his brain. More than anything, what he'd like to do is wrap himself up in the cum-soaked covers and take a long nap.

Noctis moves away from him, zippering himself back up. The most Prompto can do is slide his shirt back over his thighs, concealing traces of his shame under black fabric. His arms once again wrap around himself, shielding himself from the pain of the world, turning away so he doesn't have to look at the mockery of Noct's image for any longer than he has to. 

“No. You like attention. You crave love as if you've never had it, every gentle touch you lean into. I very much enjoy you, who you've grown to be. You are, indeed, my favourite.”

Prompto can feel his hand on his back, a fleeting presence that he isn't sure is meant to feel reassuring. It sounds like he's being insulted, even if his words don't hold a bite.

“There's still much to be done, dearest. No time to rest yet.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for hanging on during that really long wait! i'm super sorry i didn't get around to some replies, but hopefully this makes up for it.
> 
> as usual, there are some sensitive subjects in this chapter that i wouldn't advise reading if you're easily squicked out. thank you for supporting me through every hastily written chapter, i love u all (◕‿◕✿)

The wine on the table was from Altissia. Ardyn remembered the way it smelled on his breath during the walk to the Leville, too drunk to stand up straight and leaning on him for support. The look on Prompto's face is a grimace as he tips back the glass, tainted with the memory of Gladio's anger. It didn't take a space-flight engineer to know the shield had feelings for the blond in their care, though it seemed they skirted around the issue for reasons he already knew well. They held such shocking parallels to Somnus and the company he kept, he doesn't know why he's surprised. 

Ardyn was sprawled out over the mattress as he watched Prompto walk across the floor, nearing the coffee table with a subtle limp in his step. He shouldn't have let his daemons take hold like that, but he managed to pull them back before he caused any real damage. Watching him bleed on the dungeon floor had satiated some deep-seeded need festering in his core, but there was no reason to hurt him any further than he already did. Prompto was appeasing, just one of the reasons he found himself so fond in the first place.

The smile that graces his face is still too mocking as he watches Prompto empty his glass, slumping into the sofa with all of his weight. It's not much weight at all, but he's seen the way his body curves almost flawlessly as he snapped the necks of his soldiers, designed with power and efficiency in mind. It's a shame he likes to stay away from the fray, shooting effortlessly from the sidelines instead, the way he was made to do from the moment he was conceived. 

“You're welcome to help yourself to the second, if it pleases you.”

It's a small generosity, one Ardyn doesn't offer very often, but it's one Prompto takes advantage of. The second glass is emptied in no time at all, and Ardyn knows enough about mortals to know he's feeling the buzz at this point. He also knows it's probably not enough to make him happy, and he sees no point in denying him those little vices in an effort to get by. Prompto is a lightweight, but when he's inebriated he likes to be touched, two facts he'd stored away for an opportunity like this.

The cover he's wearing is having an adverse effect on Prompto's psyche. Noctis was the one he asked for, but not quite the one he got. It's hard to discern between emotions when disgust and love reach the same intensity, but his little kindnesses are starting to outweigh the repulsion. The more he looks, the harder a time he's having picking apart those feelings, his disdain for the man beneath the pretty face starting to seep into love for his best friend. It's the reaction he was hoping for.

Prompto's thinking that Noctis would never love him after this, if he were to learn of the things that happened behind these four walls. Perhaps there was no hope to begin with: he belonged to Ignis, heart and soul, and they all pretended like it was fine. There were just some things Prompto couldn't hope to compare to, like the lifelong devotion of a friendship forged during childhood. If the new ages wrote tales of their exploits, it'd be a story built on tragedy, just the way the Astral's wanted.

In the grand scheme of things, Noctis is intended to be the victim. Prompto is merely a piece in a game he doesn't understand, and what happens to him has no bearing on the story the gods have already written. What he's doing now is a selfish thing, reaping his happiness for himself, filling him with something else. This won't be permanent, it'll get easier to hide the scars, but they'll always be there: under the surface, black ichor coursing through his soul like a poison.

“When you said Somnus was... easy for his Shield too, what did you mean by that?”

“I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, darling.”

“Did you know him? Somnus Lucis-Caelum?”

Prompto is a clever boy, but he's not that clever. His shoulders square as the atmosphere around him takes a sharp turn south, already fine-tuned to Ardyn's presence like a radar. The heart that beats inside him is human, but the chancellor created him with many factors in mind, his favourite being his desire for subservience. Verstael hadn't issued it, that was a trait for himself alone.

Humidity is making his skin shine with a cold sweat, and Ardyn watched transfixed as a single bead of sweat travels across the expanse of his neck, disappearing under the dark collar of his shirt. The fear that wafts off him in waves is like a drug, and he could get addicted if he's not careful. The thing about daemons was that they brought a lack of control, which could be fun to cause havoc with on occasion, but brought up pressing issues like mood swings and uncontrollable behaviour. If he let them feed from his fear too often, they could start getting restless.

It's getting harder and harder to keep them contained these days. The prince must be drawing close to the Crystal, aware at this point that Prompto is trapped inside the keep, but what he doesn't know is that it's already too late. There's been a crack in the surface, and Ardyn is pouring into it, filling the emptiness with himself. He has no interest in turning him into something else; if that were the case, he would've sublimated him long ago, but the process was messy and Prompto had been doing a good job sating him so far.

Prompto falling in love despite the horrors he's endured is an unexpected twist, one he hadn't prepared himself for, but it ultimately doesn't matter. It would hurt Noctis to know what Prompto feels for the chancellor is bleeding into desire, but the prince would want him dead for what he's done regardless. Killing Lunafreya wasn't enough to garner his rage in an ironic twist, but torturing his cute best friend would seal his fate in stone.

“As a matter of fact, Somnus was my brother. You could say we had a strained relationship.”

There's no point in lying to him now. It would be an entertaining sight to see, Noctis learning of his true nature from the mouth of his best friend, looking into the eyes of someone broken in ways he couldn't repair. It's just a shame he won't be able to see his face when Noctis finds his beloved commoner boy strung up in his metal enclosure. Now that would be a picture worth taking, in his humble opinion.

“The statues they've erected in his honour don't quite do him justice, but he was quite handsome. The kind of man people see themselves following into battle, unlike your... feminine prince.”

“Noctis looking a little girly doesn't mean anything.”

“There was a time when Lucis was ruled by a faceless woman, so I suppose anything is possible.”

“The Mystic, right?”

“Indeed. She, too, had a lover she couldn't wed. History is woven with hidden tales of sorrow, some far more saddening than the one you're living in now.”

“Were you in love with his Shield? Is that why you're so bitter?”

Ardyn breathes a soft laugh through his nose, a noise that might've been characteristic for Noctis at some point. Prompto's shoulders are slumping, shifting even deeper into the comfort of his couch.

Those walls are back up as he hears the mattress move from underneath Noctis while he stands, walking across the bedroom floor with the same casual stride he'd seen before. They were smaller details he'd picked up from his evening in the caravan, but it made a world of difference, and putting Prompto in a more comfortable state of mind was just another strategic manoeuvre. 

“I was a healer when I was young,”

Prompto tenses as if he expects a touch, but it doesn't come. While Ardyn regales his story, he moves around to a small table across the room that Prompto must not have noticed before. He doesn't blame him for missing things that are in plain sight. This entire place was built with illusion in mind, and making him question his surroundings was another caveat to escaping. Not that he expected Prompto to try again, but precautions were in place for that sort of thing.

“I was meant to harness the power of the Crystal, bending it at my disposal, the first of the kingdom of Lucis that you loved so dearly. Placards like “King” are merely vanity plates, but it was mine.”

It must be hard to imagine, Ardyn as a King while daemons ran through his entire being. They feasted on the last morsels of his humanity such a long time ago, he must be walking scourge at this point, and that's how the gods saw him. Nothing more than a disease meant to be purged from this star, and still a disease they caused themselves. On the name of the Six, he'd be going out with a bang and not the whimper they wanted.

The table slides shut, and Ardyn has a vial in hand as he circles around the table. Prompto doesn't flinch as he takes an unceremonious seat on the floor by his feet, possibly comforted by the sluggish movements he uses to emulate Noct. They sit in a way that might seem friendly or romantic to an outside observer, but they both know the roles they play. It's the kind of low-status thing that Noctis might've done if they were alone, and though it's just an assumption, Prompto watches him patiently through those soft baby-blue eyes like he's seen it before.

“... and then it cast me away from its light, claiming I was tainted by the daemons I purged so selflessly from his people, my people, and cursed me with the blessing of immortality incarnate.”

Prompto must think he's looking for pity, but he has no need for things like that anymore. That part of him might've died when the last of his humanity was consumed by the dark, or it might've died when he sought to take revenge on the Crystal for causing this mistake. Empathy, like pain, was a human thing, and he was something else now.

“She was promised to me, you know. I used to sing her love songs. She watched the execution, and bore his children a year later. Gentiana. Named after a flower, much like someone else you know.”

Ardyn holds up the blue ampoule resting in his palm, offering it up as non-threateningly as he can manage. Prompto's no doubt wondering if it's poison, already trying to think three steps ahead, and ultimately coming up empty. It's almost funny, how easily he can see his train of thought. It registers on his face so openly it's as if there are no secrets between them at all. It's almost unfair. Almost.

Prompto reaches out, taking it into his hands carefully, fingers trembling just barely under the scrutiny of his gaze. As tempting as it is to scare the poor boy and get a laugh, there's no need to indulge the daemons inside any more than he has. They've been feeding from his pleasure indiscriminately, rattling around at the hollow of his mind with vivid and explicit images he won't allow.

“This is a rare strain of flower found in the Solheim region, though I wouldn't blame you for being skeptical, as information on this breed has grown scarce over the ages. When the old ones walked this star, they believed consuming it was a form of communing with the beyond.”

Prompto turns it over warily in his palm, and Ardyn doesn't blame him for that either. It's not the kind of material they use for elixirs and potions, fashioned in glass and worn out with time. Ardyn rarely finds a use for them these days, but the boy was sitting there looking so forlorn, he couldn't help but extend a helping hand. Whether he decides to accept doesn't matter either. It's all just one big test, designed to find his limits and push his boundaries.

“Of course, I believe it was just an excuse to get high, but what do I know. You're welcome to keep it if you think it's pretty. A present from me to you.”

The smile he wears this time is a little more like Noctis as the blond looks over him, hesitance written all over his face. Nothing he's said so far has been a lie: even his threats to punish him have been followed through to the letter, though he may have gone a little overboard the last time, letting Ravus push him in ways that made him lose composure. It wouldn't happen again. That he'd make certain of.

All if it is tipped back in one swig, just like the drinks. Things like that didn't have an affect on him anymore, but he finds some pleasure in seeing the way Prompto's body responds to it, relaxing into the sofa as it settles in slow. There had been a time when they injected the machines, before Verstael called it a waste of supplies and brought subjects in kicking and screaming instead. Prompto should feel lucky that it wasn't him.

Loqi would've made a fine addition to the magitek infantry, but Verstael has insisted on a predecessor carrying on his genetic lineage after his inevitable demise. Nearing the end, Verstael had made many absurd requests like that, his mind deteriorating like his body. Was it his genetic makeup that turned the boy into such a bitchy little sociopath? No, Prompto was proof of that. He certainly didn't have it in him to run an empire like Niflheim, but what he did have was intoxicating.

“You're beautiful in other ways. The girls are always clambering over his black hair and dark eyes, aren't they? They don't look at you the way he looks at you. What do they say these days? Blondes have more fun?”

“I'm not having fun.”

“You're not? Oh, dear, and I thought I was making such an entertaining host.”

“What part of this is fun to you? Am I supposed to enjoy being trapped here?”

“I'm utterly aghast. You think I'm keeping you here? I don't wish what lurks behind these walls upon you, though you're welcome to take your chances. I'll admit, I don't find much pleasure out of seeing parts of you strewn across my nice clean floors.”

“So why don't you give me my weapon? As pals.”

“You lost that privilege when you took it upon yourself to act courageously.”

It must be kicking in now, because Prompto's eyes start to swim as he takes in the room around him. His pupils are dilated wide despite the harsh light overhead, head tilting from side to side like a carousel as the world around him ebbs and flows. He tries to help the strain by rubbing at his eyes with his palms, taking a moment of pause as he gathers his bearings.

Ardyn takes the opportunity to move closer, hands resting gently on his thighs, comforting him in a way a friend might after a bad dream. It must be hard, having to discern between what's real and what's not. The feeling that courses through him is something akin to sympathy, knowing that part of him had long been buried under the rubble of his decaying mind.

“Courage breeds stupidity. Your friend Ravus is still paying for that mistake.”

“He's not my friend.”

“Your actions beg to differ.”

Speaking of, the wound on his chest must still be tender, seeing that he hasn't given him anything for the pain yet. Prompto reaches his hands out to stop him from trying to lift his shirt, but his grip is limp as he rests them over Ardyn's wrists, a futile attempt that fills him with adoration nonetheless. Prompto has been trying to get away from him ever since he got here, and yet he's still unable to pull away completely. 

The corners of his mouth twitch up in satisfaction as he inspects the wound, but it's not because of the bruise starting to form over his pale chest. It blossoms like a discoloured flower just underneath his skin, blues melding into purples and betraying the pain he must feel. It's been a long time since Ardyn's felt pain of that calibre, but he can remember vaguely how it used to feel. An ache that throbs in time with his heartbeat, slowing in speed as the drugs start to seep into his bloodstream. 

Luckily for him, he's not concerned with touching the wound, merely observing up close for a better picture. Taking a knee to the torso that hard knocked the wind out of his chest. He's a little surprised he didn't puncture a lung, or fracture a rib, but Prompto is built to endure pain. There's much worse he could do that would still have him standing, but he doesn't have genuine desire to see him squirm just yet. There's time for that, if Prompto wants to keep testing his patience.

Ardyn could keep him here for as long as he needed to, trapped here, together in a place untouched by the sands of time. It's awfully tempting sometimes. Prompto could develop a dependency that exceeded the one he has with his friends, but that would spoil the fun.

Disapproval isn't a feeling the boy is unfamiliar with, but he can see the way Prompto's shoulders sink as Noctis makes a noise of displeasure. How satiating it is to know his reactions can still cause this kind of response, even after everything he's done so far. Prompto is turning out to be quite a masochist, and it's all coming along nicely in his favour. 

“You don't have to worry about him, Prompto. You'll see him again, maybe sooner than you think.”

Prompto is easing into it, letting the drugs addle his perception. Ardyn can tell in the way Prompto shifts even deeper into the cushions, hands slipping from his wrists as he sinks without ever touching the ground. It's much easier to get inside his head when those defences aren't keeping him out, the walls around him crumbling under so much as a breath. Prompto likes hearing the familiarity of Noct's voice, smooth and low like a too-hard attempt at being cool.

His hands are soft as he grazes Prompto's skin, but he's still cold to the touch, an unfortunate side effect to the entities taking over. The heat he radiates feels even warmer under his chilly palms, practically begging him to get closer, and so he does. Automatically Prompto is easing his legs apart, desperate for more physical contact and unconcerned who it belongs to. He's truly a delight when he's intoxicated, all affectionate whimpers and gentle sighs, needing some form of outside comfort to make him feel safe. He shouldn't have mixed it with liquor, but Ardyn's always been fond of going with the flow.

The fact that he looks like Noctis is screwing with his mind, but it works in his favour. If he could spoil the touches they share between them, even just for a moment, he'd be satisfied. To know he touched the skin that Noctis lays his lips on would be enough. Prompto might never be able to feel Noctis touch him without feeling Ardyn with it, recoiling from his caresses like how he wishes he could now, remembering the way he looked when Prompto ran his fingers through his hair.

There hasn't been many times during this trip where Prompto's been afforded the luxury of selfishness, but Ardyn hands it to him now on a silver platter. It must be one of the appeals that makes Prompto so compliant now, exhaling slow as Noctis traces patterns over freckles with his fingertips. If Ardyn let himself get carried away, he might even think Prompto still makes him feel a little human, reminding him what it's like to love and be loved in return.

It's an illusion of course, like the mind games he's been playing with them from the beginning. Daemons are spurred on by pleasure in the same way they are misery, feeding on this carnal sin just as they have for the thousands of years he's toiled on this mortal plane. It would be silly to assume this is real love, but for a few hours, he can pretend. Infatuation and obsession are separated by a very thin line, after all.

“We're much more alike than you think, Prom.”

The blond's eyes go half-lidded as he struggles to keep himself upright, focusing on everything and nothing all at once. Prompto must be going into hyper-awareness, but that's not what Ardyn wants, pulling him back from his thoughts with a comforting hum. The sound draws his focus, and maintaining it for a moment is all he needs.

Emptiness in his core calls him in sweetly, begging him to fill the space with himself. The hollowness that Prompto feels is one Ardyn's felt for centuries, and in this, they share a piece of themselves with one another. No one could ever understand the vacancy, but Prompto does in this moment. Everyday the black has been growing, feeding on his sadness, threatening to swallow him whole before Ardyn saves him from it. It's been a game so far, but he's ready to let him see the darkness that binds them.

“I can feel you calling me in. Can you feel me?”

Prompto makes a noise that sounds utterly miserable, and Ardyn can't help but make an affectionate noise right back. His lips are soft on the inside of his thigh, resting his head on his leg soon after, peering up at him with as sweet an expression as he can muster. Noctis might be tethered to his advisor, but the bond he shares with Prompto is one he'll never fully understand. Even after he's dead, Prompto will carry him in the memory, haunting him long after the Astral's have his soul.

Noctis swallows him up in the blue of his irises, Prompto struggling to keep eye-contact when his head swims. The blond's chest is moving with every struggled inhale, trying to keep afloat when the high wants to pull him under. Even as he reaches out to touch his shoulders, warm little hands grasping at him for comfort, he doesn't try to resist as Noctis slides in between his spread legs.

Getting up off the floor, Ardyn sinks into the cushions on his knees, close enough to hear Prompto's heartbeat rattling his rib cage like a bird desperate to be free. His torso is lithe as Noctis leans into it, pulling him into an embrace, arms wrapping around his waist to pull him ever closer into his hold. The sounds he makes are still awfully sad, but it's all he can muster when the drugs hit him even harder with a sudden flourish. 

“Look at me, Prompto.”

Noctis caresses his jaw with a polite sort of sternness, drawing Prompto's unfocused gaze back up to his face. His head is still tilting as his motor skills plummet, hands starting to slip from Noct's shoulders, resting heavily over his chest instead. The arm that Noctis still has around his waist prevents him from slipping away entirely, holding him like the precious thing he truly is.

Prompto doesn't scream as he's plunged into the dark for a second time, the world shattering away like millions of myriad crystals. Maybe it's the intoxication that prevents him, or maybe it's that he doesn't want to, growing accustomed to the inky blackness inside his heart that he tried so hard to avoid. Instead, he stares on at Noctis's face with a far away look in his pupils, mouth open with confusion as he's dragged away from this world and into another.

Noctis continues to caress him while he's there, stroking his hair away from his sweaty forehead, finding the space between his neck and shoulder to lay his lips on. Prompto makes a soft moaning noise that sounds just as far away as he looks, surprisingly expected as Ardyn picks up on the finer details of what he wants. Prompto wants to be loved, doted on, made to feel special. Ardyn wants to make him feel all of those things and more. How lovely it was, to be human.

“Can you feel me?”

Prompto's eyebrows furrow like he doesn't understand the question, but it fades into a curious medley of emotions that crosses his face too fast to keep track of. Ardyn is there, in the darkness with him, and Prompto understands that now. Black melding into black, two and yet the same. 

“I've waited my whole life for you.”

Noctis nuzzles his face against his throat, feeling Prompto's pulse thud steadily against his mouth, inches away from his teeth. It wouldn't be nice to take a bite out of him when he's incapacitated like this, but he parts his lips, laving his tongue over the vein just to know what it'd be like. Prompto gasps at the touch, fingers trying to clench at his shirt but too weak to do so.

“You're my apology from the gods, Prompto. That's why they won't save you.”

No doubt Prompto has prayed time and time again, but the gods don't care about the plights of mortal men. They never cared, ever since the beginning of time, reviling in worship and sacrifice without repaying the favour. Many men have died wishing for the gods to save them, and many men have died fools. How many children had to perish before they realized the Astral's didn't care? If they truly loved man, why did they let the innocents burn?

Ardyn pulls him back in gradually, letting the world piece itself together around him slowly. Prompto's gaze is still half-lidded as his attention is drawn back to the man between his legs, but there's something else in the hues of his baby blue eyes that captures his attention. Tears are starting to swell to the surface, the corners of his pretty mouth contorted into a frown, looking at him with such sadness it would've made his heart twitch if he had one.

Prompto's hand moves from his chest to his face instead, his warm palm resting over his cheek like an affectionate embrace. When a single tear slides across his face like a drop of water, Ardyn watches with rapt fascination as it curves under his jawline, disappearing out of sight and leaving his face wet.

“You understand now.”

Prompto nods, languid and lolling from side to side, like using his neck muscles is a taxing practice. His lips part as he peers over Noctis's face without obstruction, but for the first time, Ardyn is frozen in place as he does so. It took a lot to surprise him these days, but it'd be a lie to say he expected Prompto to understand this soon. Prom looks at him like he's not just seeing Noct's pretty face, but the miserable old man beneath it as well.

He understands why Ardyn wants to die, because he too wants the same thing.

In all these years he's been wandering this star, he's never felt a wave of possession as powerful as the one that courses through him now. It's a raw and powerful thing, hitting him from the side without preparation, feeling it consume his better judgment in a single mouthful. Prompto would never be safe unless it was with him, and for an awful moment, Ardyn wishes he could be that protection. To take him in his arms and never let him go would be a beautiful and ugly thing.

But the plan is already set in motion, and Noctis is on his way to free him from his binds this very second. Ardyn can feel him getting closer with every step, but that doesn't mean there couldn't be a roadblock or two along the way. He could set a fleet of daemons on their train to slow them down some, at the very least, giving him more time with this perfect little machine.

Noctis leans in to kiss him, soft and tentative, letting it linger for a few seconds too long. Prompto sits there patiently like he's waiting for it to end, but after a second of hesitation, he's opening his mouth and letting Noct inside. It's a small thing, but it spurs him on, pressing into him harder while he licks over the inside of his mouth with slow purpose.

Prompto sighs through his nose, letting himself look pleased when there are no walls built up between them. It's a rare moment in time that Ardyn's swiftly taking advantage of, his hands sliding over his waistline, growing impatient with the slowness he's trying to take. His palms are sliding up under his shirt, desperate to touch him as if he could steal his sunshine through his hands alone. 

Of all the things he is, a liar isn't one of them. Prompto truly is a little slice of paradise, distracting him from the end so close in his sights. It'll be a memory to think back fondly on when he's reigning flames on the ruins of Lucis, waiting for his prince in shining tinfoil to come. Noctis thinks he's in for a showdown, but he's getting so much more. In a way, so is Prompto.

The blond opens his mouth, trying to say something that ends up sounding incomprehensible. Ardyn silences him with a kiss and an affectionate stroke of his hair, making Prompto sigh heavily and allow his hands to fall. It's like he's caught between letting him get close and pushing him away, but they both know he wouldn't dare. His reaction to Ravus must've scared him into staying complacent.

When he shifts to the side, starting to go pliant, Ardyn helps him lie down the rest of the way. With a hand cradling the back of his head, he's gently settling him on his back across the purple sofa, eyes roving over his settled expression with a dark kind of possessive feeling threatening to take hold. The darkness inside must be getting restless seeing Prompto's vulnerability, but he's still in control here. Whether he indulges them or not rests solely on himself and himself alone. 

Prompto is a tool designed to kill, but he's helpless now, thanks to the drugs coursing through his bloodstream. Sure, he might've been vulnerable before, but Ardyn could do whatever he wants when he's like this, and the very idea sends a thrill through him like a hot rush of feeling. 

While the blond's gaze turns up towards the ceiling, Ardyn lets his hands fall to his throat instead. He doesn't apply any pressure, but he can feel the pulsating of his heartbeat against his hands, beating erratically like a song only meant for him. He wouldn't strangle the poor boy like this, but the thought that he could is a shot of adrenaline. To watch the life fade from his sad blue eyes would be worth a thousand pictures, but it won't be a pleasure he gets to see. Killing the helpless wouldn't be any fun at all (unless he had a spectator).

“Are you tired, Prom?”

Prompto nods weakly, and Ardyn almost forgets about the hands around his neck until he feels his hair tickle his skin. He moves them only to caress his face instead, palms cupping his jaw. It feels fragile, but everything about him is. If he chose to convince him he was nothing more than a machine, he'd be inclined to believe it after enough conditioning. 

“Good.”

Noctis pulls his dainty hands away, but when they return, the black edge of his blade is pointed dangerously close to Prompto's cornea. The edge glints under the light overhead as he lets it dangle precariously close to his iris, the tip less than a centimetre away from carving his pretty eye out.

Prompto's chest heaves with uneven breaths underneath him as the knife draws even closer, and Ardyn is tempted to leave it there just to see what would happen. Prom's hands are resting at his sides still, fingers trembling as he fights the urge to recoil. All he needs is to move an inch, just one little inch, and Prompto would've done it himself.

But he doesn't, like the good boy Ardyn took him for. He lies there as his chest beats hard enough to hear in the silence of their bedroom, breathing ragged and doing wonderful things to Ardyn's lower abdomen. Noctis tilts his head to the side as he observes, mouth inching up into a kind smile.

“Just don't move, okay? It'll be over soon.”

The sound Prompto makes is something between a whine and a groan, desperately trying to protest and completely unable to do so. He's still watching with wide eyes as Noctis moves the knife away from his eyeball, pressing the tip of his blade into the bridge of his nose instead.

Tears are spilling from the corners of his eyes and making his cheeks wet. Ardyn watches as Prompto heaves a sob through his chest, voice trembling with a miserable sadness as he carves a straight line between each of his tear ducts. Blood bubbles against the surface of his blade like a beautiful paint, glinting darkly off the black metal and making his daemons rattle against their cages. 

It tastes metallic on his tongue, like the metal of his quicksilver running through his veins, human and machine coalescing into art. Just feeling the warmth of his insides sliding down his gullet and becoming one with him is enough to make him groan, low and dangerous and still too Noctis to be totally comfortable. 

Maybe he would've returned the favour, if the scourge in his own blood wouldn't turn the poor thing into one of those dreadful creatures. While it might be interesting to see what kind of monster he'd turn into, there are just some things that could never be reversed. Prompto isn't his goal here, Noctis is, he just has to remind himself of that from time to time. 

Prompto looks beautiful when he's upset. The tears on his face shine under the light overhead, staining his expression with sorrow while his eyes gaze elsewhere. Even the blood threatening to spill into his eyes makes him look like something carved from marble, a living martyr for no one else to see. If he could give the boy a halo he would, just to cut his wings off and watch him bleed from the wounds.

Ardyn draws it from his face with his index finger, making Prompto flinch with pain underneath him. His hands are still limp as he stares into the ceiling, wearing the face of a man who's been utterly defeated. In reality, he'd been defeated long ago, it just took this long to figure it out.

“We need to make you look pretty for him.”

There's nothing in his expression that tells him Prompto is listening, but he knows he is. The drugs might be making him feel euphoric, but it doesn't dull the senses altogether. 

“Let's give him a reason to really hate me.” Ardyn whispers, brushing some of Prompto's hair back.

The things they do for love are so very self-destructive, but nothing will be quite as destructive as this.

*

Prompto is crawling to him, hand outstretched, begging him to ease the pain. The puddle he lies in is a dark red colour, seeping from the wound in his abdomen, expanding around him on all sides too fast to control. Noctis watches as the waves crash against the stone pillar, drenching his face in flecks of salt water, a wall building around them on all sides.

Noctis almost gets close enough to touch him before the waves wash over them, sweeping Prompto underneath, too far away to reach him as he disappears into the dark.

He sits up with a startled cry, heart racing fast enough to hear in his ears. Sweat made his clothes stick to his skin with an unpleasant feeling, but he can't bring himself to care, sitting up straight and shifting to the edge of his mattress.

The air inside the train car feels cool now that they're travelling through Shiva's graveyard, but Noctis is still too hot. There must be a draft in the window somewhere, but the room still feels like a prison, closing in on him like the walls might squeeze him to death.

Noct's stomach turns, and he has no choice but to get up, trying to slip out from next to Ignis as quietly as he can. It seemed like these days he had gotten more attached, sleeping with an arm around him like a shield, but he knew it was compensation for the times to come. He doesn't stir when Noctis moves out from beside him, a small mercy from the gods as he tries to creep out silently.

He gets to the hallway before his stomach turns, bile burning his throat on the way back up. Noctis almost doubles over, reaching out to steady himself with a hand on the cold window. It doesn't help as he vomits what little he has in his stomach onto the floor, heaving with a hard shudder that makes him puke a second time. 

The door behind him opens with a soft click, and he assumes Ignis is awake, up until there's a large warm hand on his back. It's comforting when he's vomiting uncontrollably on the train's floor, gut still twisting with miserable guilt.

“It's okay, kid.” 

Gladio's voice is still quiet beside him as he crouches to his level, undisturbed by the position they're in. He's trying to be reassuring, but the memory of Prompto in his dreams makes him shudder again anyway. 

“It'll feel better if you let it out.”

Noctis heaves again, but Gladio is there to catch him from swaying face-first into the wall. While one large arms slides tightly around his waist to keep him steady, his other hand slides black strands of hair away from his forehead. No doubt his hand is covered in clammy sweat now, but while it should be gross, it makes him feel better. Not great, but good enough.

Maybe it would feel better to speak his mind instead of leaving them pent up, but he can't bring himself to let his resolve slip right away. Ignis handled it well enough the last time he decided to tell him the truth, but Gladio is another person entirely. Noctis wipes his mouth off on the back of his sleeve while he thinks about his options, reluctant to meet his gaze after what just happened.

But that's probably why it's a better idea to tell him instead. He's not Ignis, and that makes a world of difference when it comes down to it. Cid comes to mind, reminding him that these are his brothers. Leaning on them shouldn't be this hard, especially when he doesn't have that much time left to lean.

“He was on the train that night. He looked like you.”

Thankfully he doesn't need to fill in the rest. What he feels is Gladio's entire body freezing up in place, arm still held fast around his waist, so silent Noctis isn't even sure he's breathing. That is, until he's exhaling slow, registering some emotion on his face that Noct can't discern from down below.

“Why don't we get you some water.”

“You don't wanna wake up Ignis?” 

“No point in disturbing his beauty sleep. He needs it, probably more than you.”

Noctis can't help but breathe a soft laugh, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve a second time for good measure. Gladio was already in the process of dragging him to his feet, toting him around under his arm as if he weighed approximately three grapes. 

Normally he'd be a little pissed, but it's nice to know Gladio's taking his secret in stride. There's no angry confrontation about being careful, or how he should've known it wasn't. There's just Gladio, with his arm around his middle, dragging him around like how he used to when Noct refused to do things back in the Citadel. Normality hasn't been a privilege he's been afforded for a really long time.

“Was that what you were thinkin' about?”

“No, it was... something else.”

“I'm not gonna pry it out of you, squirt.”

“That's a new one.”

“I'm serious. You either tell me or you don't, but you know what I'm gonna say.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Gladio sets him down on one of the cushy leather seats inside the canteen portion of the train, obviously expending the last of his will to help. Noctis falls into his seat with an aggravated huff, only to sit himself straight up, face going pale when his stomach turns unpleasantly again.

“Don't get sick here.”

“I don't really have a say in the matter, Gladio.” Noctis states blandly, casting him an unimpressed look.

“Just wait.” Gladio holds up his finger as if to make him stay, slipping behind the counter to raid leftover supplies.

It's kind of comical to see him in such a tiny kitchenette, still visible over the edge as he crouches to find something he can use. Noctis tries to breathe through his mouth while he searches, closing his eyes as he lets the cool train air wash pleasantly over his skin.

Gladiolus returns so quietly, Noctis doesn't realize he's standing in front of him until there's a bucket in his lap and a drink on the table. It must've been something they used to mop down the floors, which will come in handy soon too. He'll have to clean it before Ignis gets up, which is still quite a few hours away, but he's always been a shitty cleaner and it'll no doubt take him two just to get the stain out.

He reaches out to take the water in his hand, bringing it to his lips with a satisfying noise. Noct's just happy there's something to wash the taste out of his mouth, but when he looks back at his shield, the disapproving expression he wears makes his stomach sink again. He shouldn't have thought Gladio wouldn't have wanted to talk about it, because here they are, ready to play a game of interrogation. 

“Dreams?”

“Yeah, but not the kind you're thinking.”

“About Prompto, then.”

Gladio peers into his head so easily, Noctis meets his gaze a little too fast, betraying everything without ever uttering a word. Gladiolus nods like he understands what he's not saying, mouth pulled into a terse line that made him look even more intimidating than usual. When you got to know him, the scariest thing about him was his muscles, but seeing his stare now makes Noct shrink.

There's no point in trying to hide all of his thoughts from Gladio. They both know what he doesn't want to say to Ignis, and though his advisor was bound to find out sometime, he was determined to have that “sometime” be “as far as possible into the future”. 

“I don't want you to tell Specs.”

“I'll have to, sometime.” Gladio admits readily, staring him down with an unwavering confidence. “But I can make that sometime a long time from now. I promise.”

Noctis meets his gaze with a look of his own, boring in past the warmth of his irises and trying to see the truth underneath. There's no reason to think Gladiolus would lie about something like this, and he doesn't know why he's so hesitant, forcing himself to stuff those feelings deep down and leave them untouched.

“I'm worried he's getting hurt.”

“Prompto's a tough guy, Noct.”

“It's not like that. After what he did to me, I'm worried that he's getting hurt.”

Gladio shuts up for the first time in what Noctis feels is centuries, his expression faltering from expectancy into something sad. Noct can see it deep within, like a glimmer that sparks recognition. Gladio loves him, deep on the inside, somewhere he's been hiding from them. 

No, not “them”. Him. Ignis knows already.

“He's getting hurt because of me, Gladio.”

“No, not you. This isn't your fault, kid.”

Noctis is still letting the weight of his words sink in while Gladiolus stares him down, arms folded like he's anticipating something. Noct doesn't know what he's waiting for, settling for staring into the white bottom of his bucket in the hopes it'd swallow him whole. 

“I won't tell Ignis if you don't.”

“If I don't what?”

The silence between them stretches into minutes as Gladio's slipping behind the small counter for a second time, rummaging out of sight for a bottle he uncaps almost immediately. Noctis can't read the label from where he's sitting, but Gladio's tipping it back like a champ, chugging it back with a satisfying sound.

Just as Noct's eyebrows raise, Gladio's taking it away from his lips, walking back around the counter to offer it with a kind of politeness that Noctis finds suspicious. Of course he turns the glass over in his hands, looking over the fine-print, looking back at him with a worried frown when he reads the contents over.

“Ignis will kill you if he finds out, y'know.”

“That's why he's not going to find out.”

While there are a million reasons as to why it's a bad idea, excitement and impulsive behaviour wins over as Noctis tips back the bottle carefully. The rum burns on the way down, making Noct grimace as it settles in his stomach with a pleasant kind of heat. If Gladio drinks this stuff like water, he can't imagine what kind of iron stomach he has.

Gladiolus is obviously taking delight in his misfortune, because his laugh is loud and annoying and makes Noctis glare back half-heartedly. 

“Can you stop making that sound.”

“Oh, my apologies, your majesty. I didn't think it was illegal to laugh.”

“It is. Like, super illegal. I'll have you put in super prison.”

Gladio barks a laugh, but just as he reaches for the bottle, Noctis is tipping back another long drink before he can take it back. Gladiolus still looks unimpressed as Noctis forces himself as straight-faced as he can manage, resisting the temptation to frown in disgust with every ounce of spite he can muster.

Noctis offers it back only after he's done, letting Gladio take it out of his outstretched hand. It's not enough to get him drunk, but after drinking the equivalent of three shots, he's feeling enough of the buzz to be somewhat pleased at the situation he finds himself in. It's a good thing he's a happy drunk, or this would be a vastly different story.

“How long have you known you loved him?”

Gladiolus stared back at him with a surprise to his face that Noctis knows the reason for. It should make him feel sad that he was keeping secrets from him, but he can't bring himself to feel much of anything except curious. It wasn't like he would've rejected the idea forthright, and barred him from taking a husband out of jealousy. Maybe he would've brooded a little, but it was nothing a little more affection couldn't fix.

But maybe he didn't want the affection on anyone else but Prompto. The idea that Gladio wouldn't want to pursue it because of him makes the corner of his mouth twitch down with a frown, feeling more and more like a burden rather than the brother he's supposed to be. It would make sense that they wouldn't bring it up, being that he's a prince, first and foremost.

“Maybe when you came down with that virus, and you trapped us in a tent together.”

“I didn't trap you in a tent together, you did that yourselves.”

“I disagree. Never woulda happened if you took better care of yourself.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Noctis smiles at him from over the table, feeling another pleased kind of warmth when Gladio smiles back. It almost alleviates some of that dull ache from being left out of the loop, chipping through his sadness and showing him the hope beneath. Maybe there was time to salvage this relationship. Maybe, there was never any need to salvage it in the first place.

It's kind of funny, thinking about that night, at the very beginning and so very far away. They all came to some revelations about one another that day, like a single hour of fate determined this entire journey. Noctis learned that his advisor wanted even more than he thought possible, and Ignis learned what it was like to have a piece of him he never did get back. If Gladio learned that he loved Prompto that night, he has to wonder what Prom discovered about himself. 

Maybe it was something he didn't want them to know.

“Why haven't you tried dating him?”

“I have bigger priorities right now.”

“I don't think you're telling the truth.”

Gladiolus sighs, the only indicator that Noctis hit the nail on the head with his assumption. Again he raises the bottle of alcohol to his lips, swigging it back in one hasty gulp like the burn doesn't effect him like it does Noctis. It makes him grimace again just thinking about it, but Gladio doesn't seem to notice, finding himself a seat across the tiny table.

Noctis doesn't remember if this is the one he sat at with Ignis that day, but he'd rather not think about it. It was such a petty argument compared to the hell Ardyn put him through, and it's hard not to let the alcohol sway him into feeling miserable with all the memories tainting his mind. 

“You're the reason we're trying to fight in the first place, Noct. We're not with you out of responsibility.”

“So you didn't try because you love me?”

“I didn't try because we love you, dummy. He doesn't want to give you up, and quite frankly, neither do I.”

“Does being in a relationship mean you have to give me up?”

Gladiolus exhales another deep sounding sigh, but he doesn't try to polish off the bottle just yet. Noctis knows that he's getting aggravated, but the way he looks at him from over the table is still belying his usual warmth.

“These are a lot of questions I can't answer.”

“Why can't you answer them?”

“Because it's complicated, kid. We can't just say fuck it and throw propriety to the wind. The King of Lucis can't be caught in a four-way relationship, it doesn't look good, no matter how you phrase it.”

It's Noct's turn to sigh, shoulders slumping with defeat. It all boils down to being the King of an empty empire, doesn't it. Tabloids would run wild with a headline like that, and Noctis would have his crown stripped forcibly from his head. When he fantasizes about it, he would love nothing more than to be free of that responsibility.

“What if I wasn't king? In a perfect world?”

“In a perfect world, Prompto would be here right now.”

The atmosphere settles into something uneasy again as Noctis is hit with the wave of unexpected guilt, threatening to make his stomach turn and force the alcohol back up. Thankfully, with enough praying, it settles in his stomach with a now unpleasant weight.

“I'll talk to him about it, alright?” Gladio deflects quickly. 

“I can do it.”

“How about we do it together?”

Noctis forces a smile to his face that Gladio reciprocates again, contagious in its warm security.

“I think it's fitting,” he replies playfully. “you might love him, but I saw him first.”

Gladio laughs again, loud and boisterous. Noctis is almost worried about Ignis waking up until the alcohol wards against it, skewing his perception with the kindness that pulls him in.

“You're really not worried about him?” Noct asks, after the quiet takes hold of the train car.

“Of course I'm worried. But Prompto's tougher than you give him credit for. He'll endure, just like we did.” 

“What if he can't?”

“Then we'll protect him until he can. That's all we can do.”

Suddenly Gladio's hesitance and overbearing attitude starts to make sense. Noctis feels like they're growing closer in this stupid little moment, bonding over drinks and secrets in ways they couldn't before. Gladiolus is making a genuine effort here just for him, just as he's been doing for the last fifteen years.

“Listen, Gladio...”

Noctis quiets himself, like he's unsure if he should continue. Gladiolus waits patiently across the table, eyeing him over with an affectionate look that makes him feel safe in this moment. Gladio won't like what he has to say, but it needs to be said, because he might not get the chance again.

“Don't let Ignis wait for me.”

“What?”

“When I have to go. Don't let him wait for me.”

“You're not going anywhere--”

“Gladio, if he's hurting, I'll roll in my grave.” 

Noctis watches as his smile fades into a frown, reluctant to talk about what the prophecy foretells. Gladiolus is convinced he'll be able to save him, and Noctis wants so desperately to believe it. Ignis wouldn't let him go without a fight, and that was the problem. Ignis would hurt when he's gone, but he has to leave. It's not his choice.

“He's going to hurt no matter what, Noctis.” Gladio admits, like he's reluctant to even think about the idea.

“I know that.” Noctis murmurs, sad and far away. “But you can't let him follow me.”

After a long moment of silence, his shield is nodding an affirmation. Though they'd both rather not talk about it, it's crucial they have a plan just in case it does happen. Noctis doesn't want to leave him, with every tiny piece of his heart and soul. He just didn't count on how much it would hurt to let go, holding tighter and tighter as the strings of fate pulled them apart.

“I want him to take over Lucis when I'm gone.”

“You won't be.” Gladio retorts back quickly, peering at him from over the bottle with a gleam.

Noctis smiles again, trying to lift some of the heavy rains settled over the train's atmosphere. He leans back in his chair, arms wrapped around the bucket on his lap like a hug. No doubt the mess on the floor is disgusting now, but he can always make Gladio do it. He's not sure he could stand without tilting a little anyway, no doubt he can get away with bossing him around just this once.

“You'll protect me? Until the very end?”

“'Till the very end.”

It's supposed to be a lighthearted moment, but the gravity of Gladio's words pull him back to earth abruptly. The only time he's heard words with more truth was when Ignis was between his legs, like he was pledging his devotion before Gladiolus so rudely interrupted. Gladio was prepared to follow him to the gates of hell just as readily as Ignis was, ready to lay waste to the disease that plagued the world.

“We'll get Prompto back soon, alright? That's a promise.” Gladio quips.

“That's a promise I'm making to you too.”

Gladio flinches, having not anticipated such a ready reply, but Noctis can tell it feels reassuring for him just to hear it. Gladio's been spending a lot of time trying to keep them all together, he hasn't been comforted at all in the middle of this journey, and while he needs it the least Noctis still thinks it's important he hears it at least once.

Gladio seems to have the same sentiment, still smiling as he ushers Noctis back to bed. Time passed so quickly, Noctis is sure Ignis will wake up soon, but a little bit of sleep deprivation wouldn't do the prince any harm. He'd gotten enough of it already, plagued by memories and dreams taking form of his worst fears. Prompto would be fine soon, and now he had Gladio's promise to rely on.

The Ring of Lucii was still burning a hole in his pocket as he slid back into the darkness of bedroom, intent on getting a few hours of sweet, dreamless sleep.


End file.
